


Golden Fog

by teaDragon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Eventual Happy Ending, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Character Death, Rituals, Supernatural Elements, reference to minor character death, references to violence and tourture, set in the shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 83,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin grudgingly decided to visit his sister and her family in the Shire, he expected to find a slow, sleepy town out in the country. </p><p>He had not expected that the seemingly peaceful Shire covered a dark secret. And he had certainly not expected to develop feelings for a small, curly-haired man. Nor for the same man to somehow be deeply connected to a series of strange and frightening disappearances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am hoping to have this story finished by the end of october, and though I know I'm a horribly slow updater, I've got most of this planned out already. Here's hoping!!
> 
> Happy october! ;)

The mountain pass that winds through Ered Luin down into the northeastern border of the Shire is known for being notoriously difficult to navigate. It is narrow in places and hugs the mountainside precariously, going over dizzying heights and fathomless depths. Most people prefer to simply avoid it all together, choosing instead to fly down to Michel Delving, safely in the Shire below. 

Thorin Oakenshield was not most people. 

He had a healthy hatred of flying--what he would call perfectly justifiable--as no person was ever meant to be flown through the air when there was perfectly good solid earth beneath their feet. Adding to his conviction, Thorin had been born in a mountainous country, and had happily spent the near entirety of his life among the rugged heights that were home to such metropolises. He was less than enthused to find himself leaving Ered Luin now, especially as he would have been far happier simply staying in his flat.

Orders were orders, however, and even a most particularly hard-headed and strong-willed individual such as Thorin could not get around some things. Especially when the future of his career was brought into question. 

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his mouth setting into a grim line.

It would be good to see Dís and the boys again. He had not seen them since the move a couple of months ago, and when he found himself so suddenly having unwanted free time on his hands, his sister had told him he was more than welcome to stay with them. It was less of a casual suggestion and more of a demand on her part, but Thorin had agreed easily enough. He was supposed to get away from work for a while, and what better way then to visit his family in the quaint little Shire?

His eyes were tired. It had been many long hours since he had last stopped for a coffee or to stretch his legs. Thorin was determined to make it out of the mountains before he stopped for the night, not wanting to spend more than two days of driving, which would happen if he stopped before getting as far as he had planned. He had never done well being cooped up in one place for long. Part of what he loved about his job was the mobility. No boring office job for Thorin, he needed stimulation, physical and mental.

A sign flashed ahead stating a gas station and a motel were only a few miles ahead. Thorin ignored it. He would keep to his schedule, no matter how achy his eyes felt.

After all, he was certainly no lightweight. He often reveled at pulling all-nighters, pouring all his concentration and will into a case until it was cracked, enjoying the thrill of a true challenge to his skills. Dís called him a workaholic. Dwalin said he needed to get a fucking life. Thorin simply enjoyed taking pride in his work.

The road kept going, long and slow along the steep mountain path, great waves of fog climbing the slopes. Off the mountain side the great fields and farmlands of the Shire far below were completely swallowed up, simply a huge, murky mass off to his right.

It got later and later, and the road kept going and going, and so did Thorin. The sky darkened, turning the overcast grey into a darker shade. His headlights turned the fog to a bright gold, a thick swirling mass all around, perspiration forming on the windshield. Everything began to blur into a monotonous haze, the road, the mountain to his left, the shapeless fog, the drone of the engine—

A face

The headlights illuminated a figure standing in the middle of the road, staring right at Thorin, fog turning golden around them.

Slamming on the breaks, his heart jumped into his throat, trying not to skid out or hit the person. He came to a screeching halt just inches in front of them.

Heart pounding in his ears, he heaved in a deep breath, to yell or shout, he didn’t know. The noise completely died in his throat as he looked up.

Even under the full glare of the headlights he could not make out any features. Surrounded by a golden halo of fog, the person was oddly shadowed. Curls framed the face and he felt eyes on him, though he could see none. Mesmerized, Thorin was struck with a sense of calm, even as he could feel all the hairs on his arms standing on end.

The lights flicked out, and it was gone. Thorin sat alone in his car in the middle of the mountain road. 

Cursing, he manually flicked on the car light, squinting out into the night for a glimpse of the person. Nothing. He kicked the door open, seat belt jerking him back as he forgot to unbuckle it in his haste. Fumbling with the buckle, he tumbled out onto the road, heart pounding madly in his chest.

“Hey!” Eyes straining through the mist, he tried to find any sign of the figure. “Hello!”

Nothing.

There was nothing, just the still night air and his heavy breathing, too loud and harsh in the muffling silence. Taking a few stumbling steps in succession, he cast about desperately, needing some proof of what he’d seen.

_“Hey!”_

He was running, desperate to find the figure and drag it back into solidity—

Stopping short, the road in front of him was suddenly gone, the sharp descent of the mountain edge looming unexpectedly at his feet. Looking up sharply, it took him a minute to process what it was he was seeing.

A large jagged hole gaped out of the pavement, the road smashed clear away mere meters from where his car was stopped.

Taking a ragged breath, his knees gave out. He sat down heavily on the pavement, slumped over in shock. The lone cry of a crow and the wind through the mountains the only sound in the chill night air.

 

XXX

 

“You alright there?”

Thorin jerked his head up as the waiter plopped his order of large black coffee down in front of him. He smiled, a grim, terse thing and accepted his drink, casting another quick glance out the window.

“Fine.”

The man hummed noncommittally and turned back to the bar, taking up his dish towel and wiping a mug. The little diner was nearly empty, only occupied by an older couple and an exhausted looking young man in a booth. It wasn’t his first choice of place to go, but after the _incident_ on the mountain pass Thorin had been forced to turn back to the stop-over he had passed earlier. There was a dingy motel he had no choice but to check into, unsurprisingly still having vacancies open this late at night. Not many would want to spend the night way up on a mountain plateau in the middle of nowhere. Thorin included.

After he had gotten back into the car, he had called up the authorities to tell them the road was out and needed to be blocked off. It had been far too late to look up an alternate route, and his hands had been shaking ever so slightly. He needed to get off the road. After what had happened, he wasn’t too eager to trust himself with any more driving for the night.

“Passing through?” asked the man behind the counter. Probably the owner if he was still here at this godforsaken hour of the night. Thorin was beginning to think that sitting at the bar was a bad idea as this fellow couldn’t seem to take the hint to leave him alone. He grunted in agreement, taking a swig of his bitter coffee, hoping vainly that the drink would somehow help to make sense of whatever the hell had happened back there.

“You didn’t happen to take the Shire Pass, did you?”

The coffee mug hit the bar with more force than he had intended and he winced slightly, irritation flaring up. The man held up his hands defensively. “I only ask because I hear strange stories about it sometimes. Folks passing through, usually late at night.”

“Strange stories?”

“It’s not a pass to take lightly,” the man cautioned, shaking his head. “Most of the time folks have no trouble getting by, but every once in a while something happens. People see strange shapes out of the fog, hear odd noises. Probably just the wind, but it’s always this time of year that it seems to happen.”

“Does it?” asked Thorin, flatly. 

“I don’t know if I’d believe everything I hear,” defended the man-- _Bard_ —according to his name tag, “Especially as those who live down in Buckland tend to be a suspicious lot. Country folk more or less, but strange things have happened.”

Thorin grunted into his coffee and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “I’m guessing most people have encounters late at night?”

“Aye.”

“After driving all day on a difficult mountain pass.”

“I know, it doesn’t sound too credible. Still, some folk come in here looking as if they’ve seen worse than a bad turn. To tell you the truth, I’ve heard some strange rumors about the Shire itself.”

“The Shire?” repeated Thorin, raising an eyebrow. His incredulity must have shown on his face as Bard chuckled.

“You wouldn’t think it, but I have people coming through here all the time. Not so much in the Shire proper, but on the outskirts they get strange happenings. Cattle go missing, people just wander off into the marshes and downs. Some say it’s haunted by an evil spirit.”

Thorin grunted again, willing the man to stop talking. Never sociable at the best of times, he was dead tired and would have liked nothing more than to write off the last hour or so as sleep-deprived hallucination. Maybe Dáin was right and he really was having some kind of a nervous break down.

Thankfully Bard seemed to have said his piece, and left Thorin alone to his bitter coffee and thoughts of the dark mountain pass.

 

Xxx

 

It was bright and sunny when he finally made his way down into the borders of the Shire. The fields flashed by, bright and crisp in the autumn air, colourful leaves laying thickly on the ground and crunching under his tires. He stuck to the back roads, not being fond of driving through cities, though he sincerely doubted the Shire had cities quite like the ones he was used to. Dís had assured him that they did in fact have proper urban areas, with restaurants and multiple movie theaters and even high-rises. Thorin remained deeply skeptical.

Most of the day passed in such a way, Thorin occasionally checking to make sure his GPS wasn’t leading him off into the middle of nowhere, and though it certainly felt like it, the device clearly showed that there was in fact a city just a few miles away. 

It was peaceful in a way he had not expected. He rolled down his window and breathed in the fresh, crisp air deeply. Maybe there was something to his sister’s conviction that raising her sons in the country was for the best.

By the time he made it to the Brandywine Bridge the shadows had begun to lengthen, the sun sinking low in the sky. It was a heavily forested area, trees growing thick and wild around the river, interrupted only by the road and bright patches of field. He slowed down as he approached the bridge, edging the car up onto it carefully, his tires rumbling over the heavy wooden planks. The river rushed beneath him, deep and wide, water a murky golden brown. With a small lurch he made it over on to the other side, safely down on the solid ground again. 

He kept driving, following the road deeper into the woods, into the small town of Crickhollow, right on the very eastern edge of the Shire. 

The sky darkened, the trees looming over the road, the wind rustling through their dying leaves and creaking boughs, swallowing up the small car in their midst.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm messing around with the geography a bit here, but it is a modern middle earth. I figure things might be a bit different. 
> 
> Just to clarify, this is _way_ in the future, maybe the fifth age or there abouts. So everyone is more or less human by this point.
> 
> Enjoy!

The early autumn sun turned the field into a beautiful glowing gold, the rows and rows of hay bales casting long, soft shadows in the morning light. A crisp wind rustled through the grass. Thorin turned up the collar of his coat, tucking his hands into his pockets to ward off the chill of the damp air.

His boots squished across the damp earth, cushioning his steps and giving him an odd sense of detachment as he walked. It was so different from the stone and tile of his office. He realized he couldn’t recall the last time he had walked through a field. A few black birds flew overhead, cawing at each other in the quiet of the early morning.

It was surreal how quiet it was out here. As if he was the only person left in the entire world. Or as if he’d suddenly walked off of the edge of it, and into something else. 

Across the field he became aware of a figure sitting on the far end of the fence, way off to his right. They were small, head cocked slightly to the side, feet swinging. Looking at him, he realized, slowing to a stop.

They stared at each other across the field, Thorin warring between walking on and ignoring the person, or giving some small form of acknowledgement. He was in no real mood for company. He'd wanted solitude after the hectic bustle of his family the night before. He hesitated.

Yet the figure just sat there, swinging their legs, peaceful as anything. Perhaps they were looking for solitude as well, taking comfort in the golden fields and soft rolling clouds as the day broke.

Thorin raised his hand slightly, surprising himself as he gave a small wave to the figure. He was in no way a ‘people person.’ He had been told many times by Dís that he had a gruff, brooding demeanor and a grumpy resting face that gave the impression of being angry. Yet here he was, willingly initiating contact with another living being (albeit with a whole field of distance between them).

The legs stopped swinging. They sat up a bit straighter, fully staring at Thorin. Unable to make out much from the distance, he could only tell it was a small person, dressed in a red jacket, blond curls catching the soft light of the sun.

Berating himself for disrupting this poor person’s solitude, he’d been about to keep walking when they raised their arm and tentatively waved back. Thorin stopped. The two regarded each other. The other person tilted their head to the side and fidgeted with their feet, gaze still on Thorin.

Face suddenly heating up for some reason, he gave what he hoped to be a friendly nod and hesitated a moment or two, oddly reluctant to leave. But he did, and after an awkward half-aborted wave he shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his eyes firmly down on the path, continuing on with his walk. 

It was not his business to go about staring at people who were out enjoying the peace and quiet. They probably just wanted to enjoy the morning, just like Thorin did, and the last thing they wanted was to be gawked at by some socially awkward stranger.

He turned before he left the field, wanting to catch another glimpse of the person despite his better judgment telling him he was being creepy and to stop harassing the locals—but they were gone.

 

Thorin looked at the empty fence, the wind rustling across the field in a low wave of sound. A flock of crows took flight in the distance, crying out into the early morning light as he finally turned and went on his way.

 

Xxx

 

When he made his way back to the house it was to find its occupants had finally begun to stir. Dis outright groaned when she saw Thorin coming in the front door in his muddied hiking boots and jacket, shaking her head in disgust. 

“That’s just indecent,” she said with a glare, mixing an obscene amount of sugar into her coffee. Thorin grinned and toed off his boots, heading into the kitchen.

“What? Being awake in the morning?” he asked innocently, leaning down to give her a stubbly kiss on the check. She bated him away, scowling.

“Being bloody chipper about it!”

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Vili added from where he was slumped at the table, staring blearily down at his toast.

“Thorin, be a dear and put that satisfied smirk away,” asked Dis sweetly. “Aren’t you on holiday?”

“It’s _my_ holiday,” he pointed out, taking a mug and pouring himself some coffee. “I’ll spend it how I like.”

“I don’t see how anyone could like being up at the crack of dawn."

“Why shouldn’t I want to get up? It’s not like I have to go to work.” It was a long standing argument between the two, Thorin being an early riser since his childhood, and Dis preferring to sleep in as late as possible when she could get it. “Besides, I was up far earlier than the sun.” 

She gave a small whine and waved him over to the table. “Sit down and drink your coffee.” 

Noisy footsteps alerted them to Fili coming down the stairs, jumping the last step and bowling right into Thorin for a hug. “Uncle Thorin!” Thorin chuckled and ruffled the ten year old’s hair fondly.

“Good morning Fili. Nice to see that someone likes getting up."

“It’s daytime, that means it’s time to do things,” the boy agreed, nodding. Dis groaned.

“Not you too, Fili. Don’t you corrupt my son, Thorin,” Dis warned, jabbing her toast in his direction. “Last thing I need is him getting up and going for a walk before the sun is even up.”

“Oh no, he just knows the right way to do things,” said Thorin smugly. The boy grinned before running over to his mother and giving her a kiss. 

“What, no hug for your old dad?” asked Vili, clutching at his chest in mock pain. “Ahh, I’ve been forgotten, abandoned by my own son!”

“Daaad!” Fili scurried over and planted a big kiss on his father’s cheek, the elder laughing and scooping him up into a hug. Dis simply rolled her eyes at the display, taking a bite out of her toast.

“Fili, is your brother up yet?”

“Um…sort of,” the boy sat himself at the table and grabbed the big box of chocolate puffs, pouring them haphazardly into a bowl. “He was doing that thing when he’s sort of on the bed but also on the floor a little?”

“Kili?” called Dís. There was a muffled shout followed by a thud from upstairs.

“He’s getting there,” said Fili, digging into his cereal. Sure enough, there was a series of soft thuds down the hallway that stopped right before the bottom of the staircase. With a great _thump_ , Kili jumped the last step and slumped into the kitchen, hair an unkempt mess around his head.

“Morning,” he mumbled, hugging his parents and Thorin sleepily before climbing onto a chair, slumping on the table.

“Aww, my little wolf.” Dis leaned over and ruffled her youngest child’s hair, giggling as he halfheartedly tried to swat her away. “Aren’t you excited for today?”

“Noo, Mondays are yucky," came the boy's muffled voice.

Dis hummed. “What if we pick out pumpkins after school?”

“Pumpkins!?” cried Kili, the little boy shooting up in excitement, eyes wide. 

“Pumpkins!” shouted Fili, the brothers grinning at one another and immediately chattering about what kind of pumpkins they’d want.

“Finish eating boys, we’re going to be late,” Dis said over top of the noise, getting up and clearing her plate away. “You too, mister,” she added, swooping down to kiss her husband’s cheek.

“Yes _ma’am!_ ” declared Vili, chugging his coffee in one swing and rising, shoving the rest of his toast in his mouth.

Sitting there in his sister’s kitchen made Thorin realize that he had missed her more than he thought. And the boys of course. Vili included. Everything was always a giant blur of noise and activity that often left him reeling in its wake. He looked down at his coffee.

Thorin had made a life for himself, overworking nearly every night, staying up to focus on his cases, often sleeping at his desk in his cluttered office when it got so late there wasn't much point in going home. Getting home at a reasonable time wasn’t so important when there was no one there to greet him. Sleeping in wasn’t so tempting when there was no one in bed with him. Work was satisfying and he was proud of it. What more did he need?

More apparently, as he was here in Crickhollow after being unceremoniously booted out of his office for ‘living in it for over a month, for Mahal’s sake, Thorin!’ as Dain had so inelegantly put it. 

As if that were a problem. 

“Come on, everyone get your shoes on. Jackets too, that means _you_ , Vili, I don’t care how dashing you look in your suit.” Dis’ voice jolted him out of his thoughts as she came back into the kitchen, shrugging on her coat. “You have the key I gave you, right?” He reached into his pocket and pulled it out on its key-chain.

“Still have it.”

“In case you loose it, there’s a spare just under the mat—and you have my cell number? Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in a meeting for most of the day so leave a message if I don’t pick up. I’ll get back to you when I get a chance.”

“All right.”

“I’ll probably be back around four, and the boys get back closer to five—they’ve got sports practice Monday and Wednesday after school. Help yourself to anything in the house, there’s frozen pizza in the freezer if you still don’t know how to cook—“

“Dis, I’ll be fine. Don’t be late on my account.”

“—And there’s lots of places to eat further into town. You have GPS?”

“Yes, now go—“

“Mind that you use it, the Shire can be confusing, and I don’t want to have to send a search party if you get lost again.”

“I _am_ detective.”

“You’re a giant clot, too.” 

Thorin grinned and she pulled him into a hug.

“I’ll see you later. I’d suggest you be home by six at the latest unless you want to miss out on getting pumpkins. The boys will _never_ forgive you if you’re not there, by the way, so you’d better show.”

“All right, now get going!”

“Have fun!”

 

xxx

 

Dis _may_ have had a point about the Shire being difficult to navigate. Maybe. Possibly. Not that he was lost or anything.

It certainly was different than the hustle and bustle of the Blue Mountains. This was to be expected. The Shire was famous worldwide for being the largest provider of staple crops and agriculture, exporting their produce to all corners of the world. The winding, meandering roads certainly attested to the rural nature of the place. Some roads weren’t even paved properly, made of wood chips or even dirt and gravel, all but turned to mud in the damp.

Driving down long lonely road after road, watching endless fields pass by like waves with only the occasional car or farmer walking through the hay bails in the distance brought home the fact that he was in a very different country. Leaves were everywhere, vast expanses of woodland stretching on between each field, acting as an almost solid wall of green as he drove.

It was surreal. Even the sky was bigger, almost alive in some way, possessing a power it did not usually have. Perhaps he had really needed to take this time off if he was so taken aback at the heavy presence nature seemed to have here. A bit of peacefulness was good for the soul. According to Balin, that was.

The GPS was very much needed as he drove into town. Or tried to. He frowned as it kept showing him long road after road without seemingly going anywhere, but zooming out dutifully showed that yes, he was heading into a more comfortable cluster of streets and buildings.

 

By the time he made it into the town proper, Thorin was hungry and irritable over the long and confusing roads, and it was decidedly closer to midday than morning. To be clear, he had _not_ gotten lost. Merely turned around and lead astray by a buggy GPS which had decided to simply leave parts of the map blank for the sole purpose of thwarting him. Bloody GPS. It was a wonder he had managed to get into Buckland at all in the first place.

Looking over the buildings suspiciously, he wondered at what consisted of the main commercial stretch of Crickhollow. A few connected streets surrounded by endless fields and farmland. Irritable as he was, the quaint idleness of the town only caused him to scowl further as he cautiously parked by the side of the road. Perhaps he had better drive further out to Brandy Hall or even Tuckborough if he wanted to see anything even remotely civilized.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he glanced around, noting with increasing wariness the distinct lack of any chain establishments or big name stores. Of _course_ everything was locally run. He scoffed. Turning up the collar on his coat against the cool breeze he began to walk, hoping to find somewhere promising to go for a quiet meal where he could be left to his own company.

It wasn’t that Thorin disliked small towns or locally run businesses. It was simply that Thorin was not in any way a social person. He could speak with his peers at work easy enough, even give some truly inspiring speeches when the need arouse. It was just that Thorin Oakenshield was absolutely hopeless at ‘small talk’. He simply did not see the point of making useless chatter, and when confronted with strangers who expected as much, Thorin would close up, uncomfortable in the extreme. He was horrible at it even when he _wanted_ to speak to someone, mind going completely blank and struggling to maintain light conversation.

Many people took it as aggression or aloofness, but it was simply a matter of plain discomfort in the face of strangers. Among close friends and family Thorin could and would talk until he was begged to stop, but around people he did not know and therefore did not trust, he would be unable to speak freely in their presence an so decided not to at all. Fortunately, he had found himself to be somewhat intimidating if he sat silently and ‘brooded.' For the most part people would leave him alone. For the most part.

Eventually Thorin had to give in to his stomach’s increasingly demanding protests and settled for the most impersonal looking place he could find, _Bolger’s Diner and Bar_. With a sigh, he pushed open the door, wincing at the sight of a few men gathered around the bar and talking loudly among themselves. It looked like they were all taking a lunch break from the state of their overalls, something they did routinely if Thorn was pressed to guess.

Typical. Bloody typical Thorin would get the small town lunch regulars.

He quickly decided he’d get something to go. He’d eat it in the car if he had to, so long as he could do it in peace and solitude. 

“Well _hello_ there handsome, what can I get you?” Thorin startled slightly at the voice, finding a young woman with thickly braided hair behind the counter. He cleared his throat awkwardly, taking a quick glance at the men and finding to his relief no one was paying him much attention.

“Could I get something to go?” he asked, peering up at the menu board.

“Sure you can! I’d recommend the Hungry Burger or the Spicy Chicken Sandwich. They pack up the nicest.” The girl grinned cheerfully at him. Thorin cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Hungry Burger then, thanks,” he managed.

“Coming right up!” She winked at him. Thorin rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling his ears heat up. 

“...good luck with the rain comin' in.”

“...said on the weather said it would be clear today!”

“Aye, but the almanac said rain, and lookit that sky, it’s rain all right!”

“My knee’s gripin' up, and you know it only does that when somethin’s brewin'.” There was a chorus of agreement. Thorin dug out his phone and pretended to be deeply engrossed in it.

“True, Olo’s knee never lies.”

“Damn and damnation. Last thing I want is to be working with wet hay. I’ve got to have that lot done by tomorrow, else the wife will let me have it.”

“We _know_.” They all laughed.

“Rain’s supposed to stop by dinner time. Couldn’t you work through the night?”

“Are you crazy, Merimac? Not a chance this time of year.”

“There’s too much mist and fog out, you take my meaning? Up from the Marish and the downs. Right dangerous that.”

“I haven’t ever had any trouble.”

“Then you’ve got a horseshoe shoved up your arse. Old Maggot lost another of her dogs last week, couldn’t find a trace of the poor beast.”

“It’ll be back, I’d wager. My Daisy ran off once, and she was back in a week looking all the sorrier for it.”

“Aye, but Daisy is a cowardly old mutt. Those are fierce things, Maggot’s dogs. Loyal too. Not the type to go chasing a scent into a bog.”

“She says it’s going to be a bad one this year.”

“Maggot’s more than a bit screwy, though.”

“Who wouldn’t be, living right out in the Marish? You think that wall around her house is just for show?”

“Here you are, one Hungry Burger ready to go.” Thorin jumped, having been completely immersed in the overheard conversation by the bar.

“Ah, thank you.” He dug out his wallet and paid, the girl beaming at him.

“My pleasure. You have yourself a nice day now handsome, hope to see you back!”

“Er, thank you, hope you have a good, good day too,” he stuttered, giving a last nod and hastily made his way to the door, feeling the eyes of the men on him as he left.

Thorin got into his car and started up the engine, just in case they were still watching him. He didn't want to look like a real prick for eating in his car instead of in the diner. He’d find some nice spot, park by the road and eat there. Get some fresh air and all that. He drove out of the parking lot and back onto the road, breathing a sigh of relief as he left the cluster of building behind him.

What on earth had that conversation been about? Not wanting to be outside at night because of some fog? Must be some strange country superstition. Gossiping for the lack of anything else going on their lives, no doubt. Rolling down his window he breathed in the sharp, chilly air rushing by, savoring the damp earthy smell. 

He must have really overdone it. He was missing work so much he was even considering such idle gossip to have merit.

After a few minutes of driving he found a nice stretch of field. It was corn from the looks of it, already harvested, stalks all turned yellow and papery brown, rustling in the sharp wind. Slowing, he carefully drove off the side of the road, parking his car on the dirt expanse between where the fence and the pavement of the road, safely out of the way of any traffic. 

Opening the car door he got out, rolling his shoulders and walking over to the fence. Waves upon waves of corn stalk stretched out in front of him, swaying in the wind. At the far end he could just make out a barn and what looked to be a silo. Breathing deeply he closed his eyes, the cold wind ruffling his hair, the earth soft under his boots. It was cold, but a good kind of cold, sharpening his senses and clearing his head. Moisture touched his face and he opened his eyes, the sky a heavy gray, stretching out in all directions.

Sure enough it began to rain, starting off as a gentle mist that became heavier and heavier until it fell in earnest, blown about by sudden gusts of wind. With a sigh he made his way back to the car, opting to open the trunk and sit in the back of it, his legs hanging over the edge, the roof of the trunk protecting him from most of the rain. Unwrapping his burger he was caught with a warm waft of air, the smell of it making his stomach growl in hunger. 

This was good, Thorin decided. The burger was warm and tasty, and the field behind him rustled loudly, stalks rubbing together in the wind and raindrops falling upon the roof of the car.

A flash of red caught his attention. Some poor bugger had got caught out in the rain by the looks of it. He lazily tracked the person (a man Thorin thought) walking on the opposite side of the road across from him. The man's hair was a dark blond that hung in damp curls around his face. And no wonder. He was only wearing a faded burgundy jacket. No hood. It wasn’t even waterproof, made of a fabric of some sort. Attractive as the cut may have been, it was utterly impractical against the weather. The man was simply walking, head down, hands in his pockets, seemingly oblivious to the rain and his no doubt drenched clothes.

Something nagged at Thorin, a strange sense of déjà vu. He recalled the figure he’d seen earlier that day, sitting on the fence and swinging their legs, red jacket and curly hair glowing in the early sun. 

“Hey!”

Thorin’s heart jumped into his chest as the word left his lips. It was hard to say who was more startled, the man or Thorin himself. The head of curls wiped around. Wide eyes stared at him in confusion before giving a quick glance around as if expecting there to be another person being addressed.

“Do you—do you want to get out of the rain? You can shelter under here if you like,” called Thorin, silently cursing himself for being so socially inept. 

The man stared at him, eyes wide, almost lost. He glanced over his shoulder again, taking another look around before meeting Thorin’s gaze. He gave a small nod and made his way over, eyeing Thorin in a way that was both intrigued and slightly suspicious at the same time, an unsure smile on his face.

“Thank you.”

The man's voice was quiet, the soft lilt of an accent immediately pleasing to Thorin’s ears. He quickly made to stand, putting his half eaten burger down beside him as the man came under the shelter of the trunk.

“Oh, no no, please sit!” The smaller man flapped a hand at him, flustered.

“That’s, we can—both-” Thorin gestured awkwardly at the trunk, hoping his vague hand waving would somehow indicate what he wanted. Or maybe it would be better if the earth just opened up and swallowed him whole? Save him his own death by embarrassment.

Mahal it seemed had taken mercy on him, as something in the man relaxed, a gentle smile settling over his features. “Yes, there’s certainly enough room for us both. It’s very kind of you,” he told Thorin as he sat, carefully perching on the seat of the trunk. Thorin was suddenly hyper aware of the maybe foot-and-a-half between them, and how much smaller the other man was, his curly head barely reaching Thorin’s shoulder.

Not that Thorin was paying attention to that or anything. It was simply an instinct born out of necessity, being a detective and all. 

“Thorin,” he grunted out. “I’m Thorin. Oakenshield.”

The man smiled up at him, his nose twitching slightly. “Bilbo Baggins. Pleased to meet you.” 

Bilbo’s arm moved as if he meant to reach out and shake Thorin’s hand-but then it stopped in a jerky movement, lowering back down to his side. Thorin felt a stab of disappointment, but the man's face held no scorn or distrust. It was panic that faded into a resigned kind of sadness. It was gone just as quickly, and Bilbo gave a small chuckle, smiling crookedly and clearing his throat.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” He glanced up at Thorin from under the cover of his bangs.

“No,” replied Thorin quickly, grateful for something to talk about. “I’m visiting my sister. She moved to Crickhollow recently, so I thought I’d see how she was. I’m only here for about two weeks.” 

Bilbo made a small sound in acknowledgement. “Is that so? I thought something of the sort. You don’t seem like a local.”

“Do I stand out so much?” asked Thorin.

“Well…” A mischievous smile tugged at Bilbo’s lips and he side-eyed Thorin. It was a very good look on the man. “Perhaps I saw your car. Perhaps I saw it a few times. Driving by the same turn off again and again. From different directions even. All within the span of an hour or so.” 

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Are you accusing me of getting lost?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Bilbo said, eyes wide and innocent. “I’m sure driving in circles is a great hobby.”

Thorin huffed a surprised laugh, appraising the smaller man. “Cheeky, aren’t you?” The quick grin he received made his stomach swoop pleasantly. “And yours would be preying on poor foreigners like myself?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Only if they’re ruggedly handsome.”

Thorin choked on air, turning away to hack into his arm. When he got himself under control he was sure his entire face had turned a winning shade of red.

“Sorry,” came Bilbo’s amused voice. “Came on a bit too strong?” He was still smiling when Thorin finally composed himself enough to look back at him, but there was something unsure about it, some hesitance creeping back into his voice.

“No, no,” began Thorin hastily, not liking where that was going. “I don’t mind. You can, you can prey on me all you like,” Thorin finished, ears burning a bright red.

That was probably the single worst attempt at flirting he had ever committed. Ever. Including that one party when he was seventeen with that cute boy from Bree that was _never_ spoken of. But Bilbo was giggling, smile lighting up his whole face, the lines around his eyes crinkling pleasantly. Something tugged at his chest at the sight.

Bilbo had dimples. Shit. He was polite and teasing, with curly hair and a pleasing voice and fucking _dimples_. 

Oh, he was screwed. He was screwed so bad it wasn’t even funny.

A sudden gust of wind sent raindrops flying under their shelter, and Thorin leaned back a little to avoid it.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” The smaller man had caught sight of Thorin’s half eaten burger laying beside him on the trunk seat. “I’d completely forgotten you were eating. Please, eat. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“It was a very pleasant distraction,” replied Thorin, blushing. He put the burger wrap on his lap and picked it up, suddenly remembering how empty his stomach was. He hesitated. “Would you like some? I’ve only taken a few bites…”

The smaller man’s eyes were fixed on the burger, clear _hunger_ burning in his gaze. Bilbo blinked, breaking his stare and looking back at Thorin. “I-I couldn’t.” He gave a small laugh, a forced, terse thing, not at all like what it had been before. “Though it is very kind of you,” he added, voice gentle.

A cold feeling settled in Thorin stomach, something prickling in his subconscious. The smaller man cleared his throat, looking around uncomfortably. He shifted and crossed his dangling legs. “If you’re sure?” asked Thorin slowly, watching Bilbo’s face carefully.

“Quite. Really, a great big man like you needs to eat all his meals, don’t let me stop you!” Bilbo said sternly, wagging an accusing finger at him. Recognizing the distraction for what it was, Thorin let it go, taking a bite out of the burger. 

“How, how are you liking the Shire so far?”

“It’s nice,” said Thorin as he chewed. “Very…open. Lots of nature. Fields, trees.”

“That there are,” Bilbo chuckled. “In a good way, I hope?”

“It’s a nice break from the office. I’ve always enjoyed going for walks.”

“Well, Buckland certainly has its fair share of hiking trails. Though perhaps you may want to look into some further into the Shire. Trails around these parts can become quite treacherous at night.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”

“Ered Luin. I’ve lived there most of my life.”

“The Blue Mountains!” Bilbo’s face lit up. “Oh, I’d always wanted to go there! You must tell me about it. Do parts of the city really go through the mountains?”

“They do,” confirmed Thorin, pleased to talk about his home to such an appreciative audience. “In past ages the kingdom was built entirely within the stone. It’s only recently that there have been buildings outside of the mountains as well as within them.”

“That must really be something,” Bilbo said wistfully. “To see such ancient and grand architecture everywhere.”

“It is,” Thorin agreed, pride for his ancestors welling up inside of him.

“Not much of that here." Bilbo swung his legs. “The most ancient structures around these parts are mostly ruins from long lost kingdoms, _outside_ the Shire at that. We have our own historic buildings of course, but they built more for comfort, not splendor. I’d always wanted to travel somewhere with real history to it, you know? Not the type you only read about, or the few objects they have in old mathom houses around here. I mean _living_ history, what you can see simply by walking around, inhabiting places that have witnessed thousands and thousands of lives before it, relics of a past age made commonplace.”

Thorin smiled fondly at him, watching as his features became beautifully animated as he talked about something he was obviously passionate about. “You should see Erebor, where I was born. There are few places that can equal such feats in scale and depth. And historic importance.”

“Erebor! Oh, that must have been wonderful. Would that I could go.”

“Have you ever traveled? I think you would enjoy it very much.”

“Ah ha, well…I went to Bree once, when I was a tween. I’d always wanted to go to Rivendell. It was a dream of mine, to study the old histories and legends in the library of Imladris itself!” He gave a small laugh. “Later on I had planned to at least make my way to the Blue Mountains. It would be a shame to not see the places that were right next door, after all. I suppose I’d like to go most places if I could.”

“Why don’t you?” asked Thorin, not at _all_ thinking of the possibility of meeting this man in his own city, showing him some of the sights he had spoken of so wistfully. “The drive from Ered Luin isn’t too far or expensive. The flight is supposed to be quite decent as well.”

“Oh well, I’m not, not exactly in much of a position to travel at the moment...” Bilbo trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “There’s plenty in the Shire to keep me occupied! I’ve walked all over it by now, there’s an awful lot to see. Besides,” he shot Thorin a coy glance, “I get to meet handsome strangers who are too suborn to ask for directions. That’s certainly a benefit.”

Thorin huffed a laugh. “I am glad of that. It would have been a shame to miss you.” 

Bilbo smiled shyly at him, glancing down at his lap.

They spoke for a while longer, Thorin finishing his burger and Bilbo swinging his legs contentedly as they talked. The rain died down to a soft mist, leaving the earth wet and muddy, large puddles spotting the ground. 

“I should be on my way,” Bilbo said quietly after a while. He sighed, and hopped down from the back of the car. Thorin scrambled to join him.

“Which way are you going? I could give you a lift if you like?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“Thank you, but I don’t mind the walk.” There was something distant about Bilbo, as if he had already withdrawn from the conversation. Thorin swallowed, reluctant.

“Are you’re sure? It's no trouble.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be just fine.” Bilbo gave Thorin a soft smile, something sad about it. His eyes drank in the taller man, as if trying to commit him to memory. “It’s been a pleasure, Thorin. You are very kind.”

“I’ll see you around?” It came out as more of a question than a statement. But Thorin wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this man and never see him again. He was kind and attractive and Thorin had actually enjoyed speaking with him—would be more than happy to do so _again_ , maybe even at a café or a restaurant. Maybe even on a date. Something he hadn't had in years.

Bilbo smiled, his eyes dull. “See you around, Thorin.”

Gathering his jacket about him, Bilbo walked out from under the shelter of the car and onto the street. Panic rose in Thorin, but then he reminded himself that Bilbo hadn’t expressed any interest in meeting him again, for all that they had been flirting. They had been flirting, hadn't they? Maybe he had done a worse job of it than he had thought.

Or maybe Bilbo really did do this with any stranger that caught his fancy. And Thorin had told him that he was only in the area for a little while, why should he get attached to a foreigner?

Spirits considerably dampened, he sighed and watched the small figure walk away, hands twitching helplessly at his sides. His heart jumped as Bilbo turned and gave a wave, something sad in his gaze. Returning the gesture, he watched until Bilbo was out of sight and then slumped back onto the seat of the trunk.

He should have asked for his number anyway. Dammit.

Pulling out his phone he took a picture of the road, then one of where they had sat in the back of the car. It was ridiculous, but at least he’d have something to remind him of that one time he had gotten along really well with a cute, curly-haired man—and then mucked it up by not even trying to ask for contact information. 

Fuck.

Eventually he climbed into his car and drove away, pointedly not looking out for any small forms in red jackets on the side of the road.

 

 

It was only a few minutes later that it hit Thorin, causing him to nearly veer off into a fence.

Bilbo hadn’t been wearing any shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit nervous about posting this. I'm playing around with some supernatural elements and magic, and I'm really hoping I can pull everything together into a readable narrative.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 2

“Unlce Thorin, look! I got a scrape on my knee and I was bleeding and now I have a band-aid!” 

Thorin peered dutifully at the colourful band aid on his nephew’s knee, humming thoughtfully.“Those are very nice dinosaurs, Fili. You should be proud.” The blond grinned up at him.

“Yeah!”

“I want a band-aid, too!” Kili said, squirming around in his seat.

“You have one Kee, it’s on your arm.”

“But mine doesn’t have dinosaurs on it,” whined Kili, thrusting his arm out for inspection. "Look!"

“Oh, yeah.” Fili frowned at the disappointing beige patch on his brother’s arm. “Hey amad, can we get Kili a dinosaur one too? They're way better than those boring ones.”

“All right, but we’ll wait until we get home.” Dis peered at them from the rear view mirror, smiling at the sight of her grumpy brother sandwiched between an excited Fili and Kili in the back of the car. “Maybe we’ll get one for Thorin too, if it will make him lighten up.”

“But he’s so big,” Kili said, frowning. “How could it make him lighter?”

“I think amad means it will make him less…frowny," said Fili, leaning around his uncle to loudly whisper at Kili.

“But uncle always looks like that.”

“Not when he plays with us.”

“Oh yeah, that’s true.”

“But all the other times!”

“Yeah!”

There was some very definite sniggering coming from the front of the car that Thorin had the good grace to ignore.

“Ok,” decided Fili, patting his uncle on the arm comfortingly. “Uncle Thorin, we’ll get you a dinosaur band-aid too.”

“They’re really cool!” added Kili helpfully.

“Thank you. It's very thoughtful of you,” said Thorin, giving his nephews a strained smile.

They were good kids. They really were, and for all that he grumbled he always enjoyed being around them.

But even a dinosaur band-aid wouldn't be able to make Thorin lighten up. Thorin could not lighten up because his thoughts were swarming around a small, curly haired man—who had been walking around barefoot for Mahal only knew how long!

How could he have been so stupid as to not notice the man wasn’t wearing shoes? Thorin could recall everything else, the somewhat tattered burgundy jacket, an old fashioned green waistcoat peeking out from under it, comfortable corduroy trousers—no shoes. How had that not even registered until Bilbo was already gone?

Going back over their conversation for the hundredth time, Thorin could safely say two things. One: there had been something off about Bilbo. It could be many different things, but all the evidence Thorin had so far (body language, changing the topic quickly, avoiding physical contact, clearly hungry, fixating on how _kind_ Thorin was for offering common decency, that resigned look in his eyes when he left) all added up to something…not good. Something Thorin was beginning to guess would make him very angry when he found out (and he _would_ find out). 

Bilbo Baggins was in some kind of trouble, and had possibly been trying to ask for help, which Thorin hadn’t noticed because of Two: he had been too busy _flirting_ to notice what could have been a serious attempt to get help.

The poor man was hungry and probably freezing in his drenched fabric coat and lack of any footwear, but the _great_ detective Oakenshield hadn’t noticed any of those massive warning signs—because he had decided that was the _perfect_ time to practice his pathetic flirting skills! 

When he had gotten back to the house he had paced around his room, alternating between walking, cursing and resisting the urge to brain himself with the lamp on his bedside table. And then everyone had come home, and Thorin had to try and act as if he weren't agonizing over a grievous failure and pile into the car of happy family where he was now.

What sorry excuse of a detective couldn’t notice someone clearly in need of help? What kind of person did that make him? He should have insisted Bilbo eat his meal, he should have pressed the man to accept his offer of a drive. Let Thorin take him to a café and see that he had something warm and substantial in him.

And at this café, Thorin wouldn’t even _think_ about flirting—because he didn’t deserve to flirt with that charming man when he had neglected to see how his basic needs were severely compromised. 

Oh Mahal, _had_ Bilbo even been flirting?! Or was he just so taken aback by a stranger’s kindness that he just went along with it? Wasn’t Stockholm syndrome supposed to be like that? The victim latches onto the first person to show them affection, mistaking it as true concern for their well-being?

A small voice in Thorin’s head (that sounded suspiciously like Dwalin) told him he was being an over dramatic arse and to calm the fuck _down_. He sighed heavily. 

Calm down. Think. Review the facts. Gather more evidence.

“We’re here!” called Dis happily, leaning around the seat to grin at them. Fili and Kili immediately began to wriggle, cheering loudly in excitement.

“Everybody shipshape back there?” asked Vili, grinning widely at Thorin.

“Pumpkins!” shouted Kili, bouncing up and down and kicking his feet. 

“Dears, don’t squash your uncle.”

“Please don’t,” added Thorin, carefully reaching down to unbuckle his and Kili’s seat belt, the two squashed together in the crease of the seat cushion.

“He’s very old, you know,” Dis added, nodding wisely. “You have to be careful not to break him.”

“You’re only five years younger than me.”

“And I always will be.”

“Bah.”

He stepped out of the car after Kili had jumped out, taking a moment to thank Mahal that he had chosen to wear his hiking boots as mud squished underfoot. The parking lot itself wasn’t much more than a large patch of trampled grass made into muck by the rain earlier that day. 

Plunging his hands into his pockets he approached the barn, carefully stepping around puddles and large pumpkins scattered about. Despite it being the middle of the week there were many families and children running all over, and even more inside the barn, which now he was closer to it Thorin saw was open and full of tables covered in produce. The building was practically dripping with Halloween decorations and merchandise.

A little girl ran past, a caramel apple on a stick clutched in one chubby hand. Another girl ran after her squealing in excitement, a bright orange pumpkin cookie held in hers. He silently mourned the sugar high that Fili and Kili were sure to get before they left the farm. Oh well. That was half of the fun of Halloween, wasn’t it? Stuffing yourself full of candy till you were sick. Thorin wouldn’t begrudge his nephews that joy. He only wished he wasn’t going to be stuck sitting between them on ride home.

“Anything you’re lookin’ for?” asked a cheery voice. Thorin turned and saw a man sitting on a chair set against the wall of the barn, wearing a large floppy hat. There was a low table set in front of him where he was carving a pumpkin. 

“Just looking,” said Thorin. “My nephews are choosing pumpkins.” The man gave a warm chuckle. 

“Well, ye’ve certainly come to the right place! I’m Bofur, and me and me brother and cousin run this farm. Pumpkins we have plenty, there’s all around this barn here, see. But if you fancy any nice pies or other harvest products, be sure to step inside and see me brother! He’s got all kinds of tasty things in there! Carving supplies too, can get you all set up for some fancy designs.”

“Thanks.” Thorin nodded and began to walk by. But he caught a sight of what Bofur was carving and stopped. “That is…incredible.” He stared in awe at the stunningly intricate design the man was carving into the large pumpkin.

“Why, thank’ee kindly,” he laughed, tipping his hat with a wink. “I’m a wood carver myself, and pumpkins aren’t all that hard after you’ve worked wood.” He held it up, turning it so Thorin could see the whole of the design. It reminded Thorin of the intricate sigils and knots favored by the Ancient Rohirrim he had seen on sword hilts in museums when he was little. Bofur plucked up a lit candle from a nearby table and lowered it inside, making the whole pumpkin glow, light flooding out from the many interlocking crescents that had been carved into it.

“I do commissions if you’re interested,” he continued, taking the candle out and picking up another pumpkin from beside his chair. “People, places, animals, you name it!” He lowered the candle into a pumpkin that was carved to bare a striking resemble to that popular actor from Gondor Thorin could never remember the name of. Next to it was one of many cats sitting on a fence, yowling at the moon. There were famous city skylines and one that was carved all the way round in an intricate design, looking more like a lantern than anything. They were stunning.

“They’re beautiful. My sister is set on carving ours as a family”.

“Ach, that’s the best way to do them!” Bofur grinned and tapped his nose. “Some folks around these parts have great parties at Halloween, and them’s always looking for the showiest pumpkins or whatnot. Status symbol or somethin’ of the like. I just carve ‘em. We do offer a carvin’ workshop, good for all ages, but if you’ve got kiddies you’d need to accompany them. Make sure they stay safe o’ the knife and all. Shows some basic skills and then some not so basic tricks and crafts they can try on their own.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” Thorin nodded and walked away, trying to catch sight of his family.

Fili and Kili were running around excitedly from one pumpkin to the next, discussing among themselves which shapes would make the best faces or would look the coolest, Vili keeping a close eye on the two. Dis was off looking at some preserves last Thorin had seen her. 

Despite the many people there was a quietness to the farm that Thorin couldn’t place. The wind whistled by, catching up dead leaves and hay and whisking them this way and that. It was a heavy feeling, the overcast sky completely hiding any trace of the setting sun, the taste of rain still lingering damply in the air.

In the increasingly darkening grey of the sky, the lights of the barn and the bright string of lights strung up outside began to stand out more and more. The jack-o-lanterns glowed prettily from the front of the barn, flames flickering in the sudden bursts of wind and casting crooked shadows every which way. It made them seem almost alive, like little watchful spirits, lit brightly against the oncoming dark.

Walking further away from the main bustle, Thorin spotted one lone pumpkin settled against the back of the barn. It was lit cheerfully just like the others, though why it was set away from the display was a mystery to Thorin. Curious, he walked over. It was carved to resemble a round door of sorts—a traditional Shire one, with the round handle in the exact center. Swirling designs were carved as hinges along the side, and small flowers bloomed above and below the door. 

Something about it, the warm, welcoming glow of the candle and the round, friendly door made Thorin think of home, of his childhood. Snuggled in his amad’s lap while she read him a story by the fire, cuddled close with his siblings under the blankets of their parent’s bed, sheltering from a particularly vicious thunderstorm.

A sharp breeze blew down the back of his collar and he suppressed a shiver at the sensation. Glancing up, he noticed a small sign posted above the pumpkin. _Not For Sale_. Odd.

“Uncle Thorin, look!” Shrugging, he made his way over to the boys to see their finds. They were most pleased with themselves, even more so when Dis told them after the pumpkins had been paid for and put away in the car they could each pick out something from the sweet table. 

“That pumpkin you have outback,” Thorin began, having gone over to Bofur once the boys were fully engrossed in their sticky caramel apples. “The one not for sale…”

“Ach, that one.” Something flashed in the man’s eyes, but it was too quick for Thorin to catch it before the familiar smile was back in place. “Afraid it’s off the market.”

“Is it yours?” asked Thorin.

“Oh no, not at all,” Bofur scratched the back of his head, sending his hat slightly askew. He took no notice of it. “That one’s for a…a friend o’ mine. I could knock you up a copy if you really like it?”

“That’s all right. It just seemed odd that it was all by itself back there.”

“Well, he’s awful shy,” the man seemed to say almost to himself. “You have yourself a happy Halloween. You and the family!”

“You too.”

Before he went back to the others, he stopped by the back of the barn once more. The lone pumpkin was still there, candle flickering merrily in the wind, lighting up the cheerful round door that had been carefully carved into the front. It was lonely somehow, Thorin realized. There was something nostalgic and almost sad about it, like finding an old sweater that no longer fit. Pulling out his phone he snapped a quick picture of it. 

Then he made his way over to Dis, who demanded he stop sulking and eat his caramel covered apple slices before they got too hard.

There was something nostalgic about that too. But it didn’t sting of loneliness. Not quite.

 

xxx

 

The next morning Thorin had risen early for his walk and joined the family for breakfast, promising Dis that he wouldn’t get bored if left to himself. After everyone had left, Thorin decided to go explore a new path he had found right near the house, winding away into the thick trees of the wood. 

The sharp, crisp air cleared his head as he walked, booted feet softly stepping on the damp leaves carpeting the ground. The path meandered through the trees, a few benches scattered along it at odd intervals. He sat down on one, pleased to find the wood wasn't too damp. Unzipping his backpack he pulled out a book, one of many he had been meaning to read for years now, never finding the time. Balin always said there was nothing so relaxing as reading out in nature. It couldn’t hurt to give it a go. It would probably make the Fundinson brothers happy if he was giving ‘relaxing’ a try, anyway.

A few minutes passed, and then a few more while Thorin sat with his book. His eyes skimmed over the pages, barely registering the words as more than meaningless shapes. He shifted, feeling his boots squish in the damp earth, the crisp coolness of the day beginning to nip at his skin. Running a hand through his hair he huffed in frustration, trying to focus.

Once he realized he was still looking at the same paragraph as he had started on and that he had no idea what he was reading, he gave it up.

It was no use.

He put the book down on the bench and reached for his boots, wrenching them off his feet along with his socks. The cold, wet earth against his sensitive soles sent an unpleasant shudder up his spine, his toes instinctively curling in discomfort. It was freezing. 

Thorin stood, gritting his teeth and stubbornly walking a few paces away from the bench. Each step was accompanied by an unpleasant _squish_ of water rising to the surface under his weight. He made his way back to the bench and sat, looking at his watch. One minute, then two passed, his feet slowly turning numb and white from the cold, prickling painfully as they began to loose feeling. He shivered, the cold beginning to spread through his body.

That was it then. 

There was no way anyone could go about barefoot this time of year without serious risk to their health.

He stared down grimly at his feet, turned nearly a bloodless white and grimy from the mud. If it was this bad after just two minutes, how had Bilbo handled it for hours?

 _Hypothermia_ , he thought to himself. The small man must be suffering from at least some form of hypothermia, or frostbite. There was no way he could have been all right after such a long time exposed to the elements. Not in the rain and the cold and the wind. Not barefoot and without a proper jacket. And who knew how long without eating. 

His hand clenched into a fist. Suspicions proven, he made to get back to the house. With a start, Thorin realized he was still sitting there barefoot, his feet wet and dirty. Oh. There was nothing to dry his feet off with. Grimacing, he slowly tugged his socks back on, sliding them over his mucky feet with a wince. Squishing his way back to the house he bore the discomfort with a grim kind of stoicism. 

Bilbo didn’t have socks or shoes. Maybe he didn’t even have somewhere to go and warm up.

This smarted at his pride in his ability to do his job. Bilbo was clearly in some kind of trouble. And Thorin hadn’t noticed. He’d been too busy trying to flirt with the man to realize something was wrong. Thinking back, Bilbo had been very pale. To think of him needing help...

Thorin stomped into the house, frustrated. His socks stuck to his damp feet when he tried to take them off, turning themselves inside out annoyingly. Wiping his feet on the mat, he padded inside, going to his room and rooting around for some dry socks. Putting them on, he made his way back downstairs, heading for the kettle and some coffee. 

Bilbo might not be able to get coffee. 

The thought stopped him. Maybe the man _could_ have, if Thorin hadn't been a giant prick and had actually bothered to realize he needed help. 

With a growl he turned away from the kettle. Dis had left out some library books that needed returning, encouraging Thorin to see some more of the Shire and Buckland.

Right now he needed a distraction to calm down, and he was only too glad to take this one.

 

Xxx

 

The Buckland Public Library was in located in Brandy Hall, the municipal center of Buckland and the only part of it so far that actually resembled a city. There were indeed high rises. Not many, and most did not go higher than a whole ten floors, but high rises nonetheless. 

Unlike Ered Luin, the sidewalks of this city were lined with trees, a thick blanket of red and yellow leaves covering the ground and flying about in the wind. There were cobblestones and historical plaques. There were fancy antique lampposts with giant baskets of flowers hanging from them, and storefronts with bright, cheerful colours and Halloween decorations everywhere. It was quaint and charming and looked very pedestrian friendly. At least the parking was easy to find.

Nestled beside a park was the library, a large, wide building with round windows and doors, built in the traditional architectural style of the Shire. Thorin walked through the park towards it, taking in the sun and warm air of the afternoon. Across the park from the library was an old clock tower, which began to toll as he walked up the steps to the entrance. 

Like most traditional Shire architecture, the library was made primarily of wood and brick instead of stone, and favored sloping, rounded ceilings and walls. It was designed to make you feel as if you were underground. Not the sort of underground Thorin was used to. There was decidedly less angular motifs and great carvings and mosaics of stone and precious metals. No glaring statues carved out of living rock, huge and heavy with glory. It was immediately comfortable nonetheless, all friendly, warm colours and tones. Dust motes hung in the air, made visible from the light streaming down from the windows on the second floor. The second floor itself was open in the middle, hugging the sides of the room like a balcony overlooking the main floor. 

_“We have our own historic buildings of course, but they built more for comfort, not splendor...”_

Comfort indeed. 

Pulling the books out of his bag, Thorin spotted the drop box and slid them in, listening for the muffled _thump_ as they landed. Task completed, Thorin decided he would look for some local maps or books of trails. Maybe try to find a Shire tourist brochure. It would make Dwalin happy if he at least made it look like he was trying to have a proper holiday. Forced or otherwise. 

Stupid Dain. But maybe his work had been suffering if he hadn’t noticed…

A dark cloaked figure stared at him from across the room.

Startled, he blinked, hand twitching for a gun he knew wasn’t there. It was for the best. Another look revealed it to be just a Halloween decoration, part of the larger display that was set up. It looked like a grim reaper, only it was without the scythe. A wraith then. Releasing a breath he made his way over, curious when he spotted a large plaque beside it.

_The Reaper. The Shadow on the Barrow Downs…_

He raised an eyebrow.

_This legendary creature is said to haunt the Barrow Downs, wandering over the hills and moors and cloaking them in a thick perpetual fog, seeking to confuse and entrap any who wander too near. Ancient writings suggest these wraiths originated from nearby burial mounds, a dark magic causing the souls of the deceased to lure the living into their graves and entomb them there. Though never proven, the Barrow Downs themselves are home to many strange phenomenon and paranormal activity, records of such events going back to the early third age._

_The local legend of the Reaper is said to have originated from the tales of the Barrow Downs as well. First appearing on a Halloween night 200 years ago (approx. 5A3402), this creature was said to have terrorized the residents of Buckland, seeking the souls of children. Even today, the month of October is notorious for strange sightings of dark shapes appearing out of the fog._

 

Well.

Thorin glanced up at the (admittedly tacky, now that he was closer) reaper prop, the black, hooded thing hanging crookedly from the display case. 

It made sense, in a way. These were rural folk. Of course their local legends would revolve around a ‘reaper’, supernatural creatures said to harvest the souls that were ripe for the taking. Fitting for the Shire.

Giving a cursory glance at the display he scanned the book titles set out: _Mirabella and the Old Forest_ , _101 Great Halloween Crafts_ , _The Ghost who wanted to eat Pumpkin Pie!_ , _The Deluxe Special-Edition Traditional Buckland Harvest Cook-Book_ , _The Barrow Downs: A Photographic journey into the darkness on our Borders…_

His eyes caught on the last title. It was a wide book with a hard, glossy cover, featuring an image of low, jagged hills shrouded in fog. 

Interesting.

Maybe there was a trail out that way. If the Barrow Downs were really as prone to the supernatural as was rumored there might even be some kind of a ghost walk or tour that went through. It could be interesting.

He made a mental note of it and walked over to find the map and travel section.

 

Xxx

 

It was cold when he made his way back to his car, the sun already beginning its decent despite the early hour. He had stopped over at a nearby coffee shop after his trip to the library, grabbing something to eat while thumbing through a book of local trails and walking paths. 

There was a path to the Barrow Downs. It was inaccessible to the public. The path first went through the Old Forest, which was the private property of the Brandybuck family, and wound through the downs. According to the map, the entire western side of the forest was fenced off by a huge hedge. The only entrance was through a tunnel. A tunnel not very far from Dis’ house at all.

Shadows stretched long in front of him, the light turning golden and setting aflame the reddened leaves on the tree tops. Children played in the park, running and screaming happily, their parents watching nearby. Leaves crunched underfoot as he made his way across the grass, a crisp, cool breeze blowing his hair about.

And there on a bench, sheltered under the boughs of a great oak, was a small man with curly golden hair and a burgundy jacket, swinging his legs.

 _Bilbo_.

Heart giving a start, Thorin sucked in a quick breath, eyes darting down to the man’s feet. Bare. No shoes. 

His feet had already taken him over to the smaller man before he realized he was moving.

“Thorin.” Bilbo began, face lighting in a wide smile up at the other man’s approach. “I hadn’t—It’s so good to see you again!”

“Bilbo.”

“Oh goodness, I was sure I had probably scared you off last time—I knew I was coming on too strong! Sorry about that, it’s just, it’s been so long since—“

“ _Bilbo,_ ” Thorin ground out, hands firmly clasped into tight fists at his sides. Something in his tone and expression had Bilbo trailing off, bright smile sliding off his face and replaced by an expression of mild concern.

“What is it? Thorin, is something wrong?” He followed the larger man’s fixed gaze down to his bare feet. Bilbo blanched, eyes widening and cleared his throat and self consciously tucking one foot behind the other. He dropped his gaze, shifting uncomfortably for a moment. Glancing up at Thorin he asked quietly, “Why, why are you looking at me like that?”

“You…” Thorin sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, resolve hardening at the wary and almost scared look in the other man's eyes. The way he tried to make himself seem smaller. “Come on.” He made to grab Bilbo’s arm. 

The smaller man flinched away from the touch, rising quickly and putting the bench between them, panic blowing his hazel eyes wide.

“Thorin—what are you doing?”

Shit. 

Avoiding physical contact— _fear_ of physical contact. Every scenario that Thorin’s mind produced to explain such a reaction was worse than the one before, all pointing to something very dark that had happened to this small man—could _still_ be happening to him.

_Shit._

Holding out his hands defensively, Thorin slowly approached him, Bilbo eyeing him warily all the while. “Come. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

“E-Ex _cuse_ me?!” Bilbo stuttered incredulously, eyes narrowing dangerously even as he backed away “Just _what_ are you implying?!”

“I am a detective. I work with the police,” Thorin explained slowly, watching Bilbo carefully. “You’re clearly in some kind of trouble. Please. I can help you.”

“Y-you…” Bilbo shook his head sharply, a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I thought, I thought it was interest, I…oh Yavanna’s grace, I _actually_ thought you—“ he cut himself off with a bitter laugh, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Bilbo, please.” Thorin took a careful step foreword, resisting the instinct to simply take the smaller man by the arm and get him out of the cold. Bilbo’s head snapped up. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your _pity!_ ” Bilbo shouted, face twisting in anger and hurt.

“It’s not pity. You need help—“ 

“I need help? I should have known better than to trust an officer! You never listen!”

“Bilbo—“

“No! No, you _stay away_ from me, you hear me?!”

“I can’t just—“

“Leave me ALONE!”

Something wiped past the back of Thorin’s head. He ducked instinctively, a loud screech sounding loudly in his ear. He turned, hands up defensively in front of his face. It was a crow, a great black crow had just swooped out of nowhere and nearly clipped his ear, only to hover in place and take off. 

What? He turned back to make sure—

Bilbo was gone. 

“Bilbo!” There was no sign of the smaller man. Heart pounding he dashed forward a few paces, looking about wildly for any glimpse of a burgundy jacket or golden curls. He went back the other way, then ran out further into the park. 

The sun set behind the line of buildings, painting the sky a deep red and turning the bottom of the clouds a blazing orange. The clock tower tolled in the distance, five long, deep sounds resonating across the park.

 

 

Xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something is definitely up with Bilbo. Though Thorin didn't exactly go about it the best way. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, writers block got me. And just general block too? I _almost_ got a job...interview. *sigh* I'm going to have to start volunteering, I think. Blah!
> 
>  **warning:** some scaries in this chapter.

_Thorin: 1:37AM, Oct 21_

Dwalin. Dwalin, I fucked up. I fucked up so badly.

 

_Dwalin: 1:40AM, Oct 21_

Nice to hear you’re having a good time. What’s got your panties in a twist?

 

 _Thorin: 1:40AM, Oct 21_

I fucked up, Dwalin. FUCKED. UP. 

 

_Dwalin: 1:42AM, Oct 21_

Yeah, I got that part. What did you do? Loose the boys? Dís will fry your sorry arse for that.

 

_Thorin: 1:43AM, Oct 21_

No, no, they’re fine. Haven’t messed up that at least. Yet. Oh Mahal, I FUCKED UP

 

_Dwalin: 1:44AM, Oct 21_

You said, yes. 

 

_Thorin: 1:44AM, Oct 21_

FUCKED UP

 

_Dwalin: 1:44AM, Oct 21_

Thorin, I need you to do something for me, yeah? Calm. The. Fuck. DOWN. Can you do that?

 

_Thorin: 1:44 AM, Oct 21_

F U C K E D U P

 

_Thorin: 1:44AM, Oct 21_

FUCK

 

_Dwalin: 1:44AM, Oct 21_

For fuck’s sake Thorin! 

 

Thorin started as the cellphone in his hand began to ring. He cleared his throat awkwardly before he answered. “Hello?”

“I get it, you fucked up,” came Dwalin’s voice. “What happened?”

“Dwalin." Thorin ran a hand through his hair, feeling both parts guilty and relived to hear his friend's voice. "Hey. Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to call you this late. You’re probably busy.“

“You didn’t call. I did. Was up anyway, finishing some paperwork. Now quit wallowing and tell me what happened.”

“Sorry. It’s just I, I messed up.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“I-What?”

“Have you been framed for murder? Do you need protection?”

“What? No, no—!”

“Good, then calm down. Sit down too, I can hear you moving. Better?”

“Yeah. I guess, yeah.”

“Now talk.”

“Right. I-well, ok. So, uh…ok. Yesterday I…I met someone...”

“Who’d you meet?”

“A… _someone_ , someone.”

He could practically hear Dwalin’s eyebrow rise over the phone. “A someone, eh? It’s about fucking time! He’s a cute little bugger, isn’t he? I know your type.”

“He—“ Thorin let out a breath through his nose, “He’s small, and ridiculously cute with curly hair and everything. We even talked—“ Dwalin started laughing.

“Thorin that’s great! Look, I know you think you’re rubbish at flirting, but you can’t have messed up that bad. You don’t have to panic just because you stuttered or tripped over you feet. You’re damn handsome, everyone gives you looks all the time—“

“He wasn’t wearing any shoes.”

“—You have to give yourself more…what?”

“I, I think he’s in some kind of trouble. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it earlier, but when he left I realized he was barefoot, and he was really hungry and fucking _flinches_ away from physical contact—and he kept going on about how _kind_ I was and seemed startled I had even talked to him—“

“Thorin! Slow down. Now tell me what happened.”

So Thorin did. Slowly, haltingly, but eventually he had told Dwalin the whole miserable thing.

“I fucked up,” Thorin moaned, laying on his back on his bed, staring miserably at the ceiling. “I really fucked it up. There’s no way he’ll trust me now.”

“Your heart was in the right place, lad. I know you’re a bloody softie and want to help everyone, but you have to remember that people have their pride. You insulted his. Embarrassed him too.”

“Shit. I know. I just, he looked so small, I couldn’t—what if he was being hurt? Or needed somewhere safe to stay?”

“Not your country, lad. Unless you want to ask Dain for an international work transfer you can’t just up and start trying to pull strings over there. And besides you're a detective, not a social worker.”

“I could have helped him to get help," he gritted out. "We’ve both worked with enough suspects and witnesses who needed protection—I’d help him get that, make him feel safe enough that he could reach out.”

“You don’t know for sure if he’s being abused.” Thorin sucked in a sharp breath. Even though he had been considering such possibilities himself, hearing it said aloud was like a knife in his gut. “He may just be homeless.”

“ _Just_ homeless? There’s nothing _just_ about being—”

“You may not be able to help him Thorin. Look, I know you want to sweep in there and solve all his troubles—I know you, you’re a stupid noble git—but there might not be anything you can do. He may not want your help.”

“I can do _something_. Take him out for a proper meal, or buy him some fucking shoes—I can’t be sure! How do I know he’s not in serious trouble?”

“You don’t.” Dwalin sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you? You’re a right stubborn git, but your damn heart’s too big. Just give me his name, I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you Dwalin. It’s Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. In his thirties, maybe early forties, about 5’1. Short, blond, curly hair, defiantly Shire descent.”

“…Right. Like I said, I’ll see what I can do. Mahal knows you won’t stop obsessing over this if I don’t.”

“I’m not…shit. Oh fuck, Dain’s right about me. I shouldn’t, I’m not fit for work, I go on holiday and start looking for something, anything to do, what if I’m just seeing things where there’s nothing, obsessing over paranoia and blowing everything out of proportion. Fuck! No wonder I’m out here, I’m unstable—“

“Mahal’s Balls, lad!” Dwalin shouted, startling Thorin into a terse silence. “Dain’s not doing this to punish you! He cares about you— we all do! That’s why you’re there. Don’t you get it? You need to take some time off. Not because your work is suffering but because you’re not taking care of yourself.”

Thorin gave a grunt, rubbing his eyes. “So I…I’m…”

Dwalin sighed. “Look, Thorin. I’ve worked on more cases with you than I can count. I’ve followed you into the stupidest situations, and I’ll do it again, gladly. But you need to take better care of yourself as a person too. Last time you took off work was when Kili was born, for crying out loud. It’s ok to have a life.”

“…You don’t think this thing with Bilbo is, is just some, ah, obsession?”

“Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not about to turn into Thror, alright? That’s a load of utter shite. It’s great that you met someone, it’s been fucking _years_ —I just wish it was a bit simpler. Just, are you sure? Do you really want to go after him? And not out of some stupid obligation—do you _like_ him?”

“…Yes. Yeah, I-yes.”

“Alright. Then I’ll start looking on my end, and you can get your head out of your arse and start working on your apology.”

“Apology?”

“You fucked up, remember? Hurt his feelings. You said the poor bloke looked hungry, get him a cake or something. Have them write ‘I was a giant arse’ on it, too. Could help. Couldn’t hurt, anyway.”

“But I don’t know where to find him.”

“Mahal’s balls, are you a detective or not? Ask around. Sleuth him out. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Dwalin, I…thank you. Just, thank you.”

“Ach, lad. You always were an over dramatic sap.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Go to bed, you royal git. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

 

Xxx

 

Finding one person out of a country of roughly 1.4 million was no easy task. However Thorin had never shied away from hard work, and was determined to locate one Bilbo Baggins. After all, it was more or less his profession to find things, especially things that may not want to be found. 

And after their last disastrous meeting, Thorin could say with much surety that Bilbo did not want to be found by him.

Thorin dug through the kitchen, finding in a cupboard under the counter an old phone book and hefting it into his lap. There was something comfortable about the feel of paper, the pages smooth and crisp under his fingers. The book was a bit outdated, but it did list a few Bagginses. No _Bilbo_ Bagginses. Thorin scribbled down the numbers anyway.

His laptop was next. He performed simple searches on basic search engines, tried Facebook and any other social media he could think of, and then tried some not so basic search engines. Dwalin had better access than he did, but he’d work with what he had. 

There was a low whine off to his side and he looked down to see Dís’ great black wolfhound staring up at him hopefully, her tongue lolling out. He patted his lap and she eagerly plopped her head down in it, whining happily up at him as Thorin absentmindedly scratched around her ears and jaw.

Nothing was coming up. It wasn’t uncommon, some people simply didn’t have social media or jobs where they were listed online as employees. It didn’t make him feel any easier.

“Bilbo Witherford employee of Marco Inc.…” “Milo Baggins the head of the Michel Delving Mathom House…”, “Baggins Annual Yuletide Party to be held on…” “Mad Baggins, folk legend of…” “Lobelia Sackville-Baggins claims silver spoons stolen…”

He drummed his fingers on the table. Closing his laptop, he grabbed his backpack from the floor beside his chair. Pulling out a map of the Shire from the library he unfolded it, finding Buckland.

What did he know?

The three times he had seen Bilbo he had been in Buckland. Twice in Crickhollow, once in Brandy Hall, both were still firmly within Buckland Region. Most likely he was still in the area. Assuming he hadn’t gotten a ride or been walking all night, he probably couldn’t have walked all the way to the bridge and crossed the river into the rest of the Shire. 

He couldn’t have gone far with bare feet.

There was also the Bucklebury Ferry to consider. It was only a few miles west of Crickhollow, sparring the longer trip north needed to get to the bridge. Bilbo could have crossed the Brandywine on the ferry and gone into the Marish. Assuming he had the fare to pay for the crossing.

He put the map back into his bag and drained the last of his coffee, gently removing the reluctant dog from his lap. It was time to get to work.

 

xxx

 

The farm looked much different in the faint sunlight of the late morning than it had when he was last here. A few people wandered around, but it was nowhere near as crowded as it had been.

It was just as muddy though, Thorin found, boots squelching along in the muck. The sun may have been out, but a heavy chill had firmly set into the ground, trapping a layer of dampness over everything and only making the chill of the wind worse.

Ducking inside the barn, he was greeted with the delicious smell of freshly baked pie and caramel, rich, earthy scents clinging heavily to the damp air. His stomach grumbled hungrily. Maybe he should get one of those apple danishes. Support the local community and all that.

Right.

A large, rotund man sat behind the table, smiling pleasantly at him as he made his purchase. “You wouldn’t happen to know if Bofur is here today is he?” asked Thorin as he shuffled his change into his wallet.

“Oh, he’s out back,” rumbled the man shyly. 

 

“Thank you,” said Thorin, nodding. Tucking his wallet back into his bag he slung it over his back and picked up the paper-wrapped pastry from the counter. He took a bite of it.

Durin beard.

It was incredible. Walking back out into the cold, he greedily hunched over his treat, sighing happily at the heavenly taste and the warmth of it settling comfortably in his belly. 

He walked around the barn, spotting Bofur over by the lone pumpkin with the round door. Wiping his hands clumsily on his trousers he walked over, glancing at the pumpkin again.

“Well look who’s come back!” said Bofur, smiling and walking towards him as Thorin approached. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get your name before.”

“Uh, Thorin, Thorin Oakenshield. You’re Bofur, right?”

“Right indeed! Now we’ve been all properly introduced and all, is there anything I can help you with? No problems with the pumpkins I hope?”

“No no, they’re fine. The boys love them.”

Bofur grinned at him. "Glad to hear it! What can I do for you?” 

“Actually, I-ah,” Thorin swallowed nervously. “I was wondering if you knew someone.”

“Oh ho, I just happen to!” replied the man, tapping his nose conspiringly. “In fact I know a good many someone’s. Anyone you’ve lost?”

“His name is Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. He’s short, curly hair, blond. Do you happen to know him?”

Bofur’s friendly smile slid off his face. His eyes hardened. “Bilbo Baggins? You want to know about him?”

“Yes..?” asked Thorin, cautiously, startled at the sudden change in the man’s demeanor.

“Oh no, I’m not doing this.”

“I-sorry?”

“Look, you seem like a nice enough bloke,” began Bofur, voice hard. “But you know what? Shove off, aye? Don’t even try it. You leave him the fuck alone.”

“Is he in trouble—?”

“This isn’t some kind of a fucking game!” the man hissed. “He’s not just gossip, show him some respect! Stay away from him, alright? He doesn’t need your type nosing around in his life.” The smile was suddenly plastered back on Bofur's face, and he patted Thorin on the shoulder heartily. “Now have a _lovely_ day.”

Thorin was left blinking in shock. 

What on earth had just happened?

The walk back to his car was something of a daze for Thorin. This was the second time in as many days that he’d been yelled at and told off. He may have had thick skin, but often such things came at him from familiar and much hated people such as Thranduil. This had caught him off guard. 

Sitting down in the car, he stared morosely out the window. Small flecks of rain began to appear, the sun hidden behind rapidly moving clouds that had swept in. 

Bofur obviously knew Bilbo. Knew him enough to know of his troubles. Whatever they were. Had other people asked after Bilbo? Not with the intent to help, but just for the story? The intrigue? Was Bilbo some kind of spectacle around these parts? Had something awful happened?

The thought turned unpleasantly in his stomach, both at the implication of some harm befalling the small man, and at the thought of others gossiping about it.

As startling and unpleasant as it had been, Thorin felt a rush of gratitude that at least Bilbo had a friend in Bofur. He could only hope it was enough to keep him safe from whatever had happened. Was still happening. Possibly.

Giving a groan he fished out his keys, starting the car. His tolerance for being around other people socially was nearly gone. He’d be no good asking around in this state.

Pulling out onto the road, the rain began to fall in earnest, strengthening Thorin’s resolve to take the rest of the day off and stay inside where it was warm and quiet.

He hoped Bilbo could do the same.

 

XXX

 

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Hmm?” Thorin was standing by the kitchen counter, drying dishes while Dís washed. The boys were upstairs, Vili helping them get ready for bed.

“More quiet than usual,” Dís amended. “Is everything alright?”

“I, ah,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Had a bit of an argument with someone.”

“Uh oh, you didn’t run into Thranduil or anything, did you?”

“No. Thankfully. Though it wouldn’t surprise me if that poncy bastard showed up just to spite me.”

“He’d be wearing that infernal sparkling white suit and those stupid designer shoes,” Dís said, grinning.

Thorin snorted. “Probably would drive by in his limo, just to gloat.”

“He would!” Thorin carefully put down the pot he had been drying and picked up a bowl. “So what did happen?”

 

“Hmm?”

“What happened with your argument?”

“Just threw me off. Wasn't expecting it.” Dís hummed noncommittally, scrubbing a large pan. “Do you, do you ever feel like there’s something odd going around here?”

“Thorin,” she began, raising an eyebrow. “I have Fili and Kili for children, of _course_ I do.”

“Not like that. I mean in Crickhollow. Buckland, Buckland Region, whatever it’s called.”

“Well if you mean odd as in ‘different from Ered Luin’, then yes. Yes I do.”

“I mean some kind of a public secret. Something everyone knows but no one talks about?”

“Thorin, it was like that with us back in the Blue Mountains. Our ancestors were a very secretive people, there are things we still don’t speak of freely to others. The Shire was very secluded off for most of it's history as well. It wouldn’t be surprising if they had similar secrets.”

“No, I-” he sighed, cutting himself off. “You’re right. Just hearing some strange gossip.”

His sister shot him a look before smiling. “Well, you let me know if anything _is_ going on. Maybe it’s your detective senses tingling?”

“Very funny, Dís.”

“No really, if there’s a bunch of witches in the forest waiting to snatch us all up, let me know? I’ll take the day off work.”

“Ha ha.”

Díd dried her hands off on a towel and wrapped her arms around her brother, hugging him tightly from behind. He grunted halfheartedly.

“You sure you’re ok?” She asked softly, warm and familiar against his back.

“I’m alright. It’s just-” he tugged, trying without much effort to break free of her hold. “There’s something stuck on my back. I can’t get it off.”

“Ha! _Too bad_.” Dís grinned, nuzzling into her brother’s back happily. Thorin groaned and tried to break her hold, but they both knew he wasn’t trying at all. “You can’t get rid of me, I’m your sister.”

“Oh Mahal, how I’ve tried to forget!” She finally released him, sticking her tongue out as she did. Thorin grinned at her.

“If you’re done sulking you can watch some TV with us on the couch," said Dís. "Vili should be about done getting the boys all ready for bed, they’ll be down soon for pajama time.”

“How long until they go to bed?” Thorin asked, wanting to spend time with his family, but needing to sort his feelings out first.

“You’ve got about an hour and a half.”

“Think I could go for a quick walk?”

“In the dark?” asked Dís aghast, gesturing at the darkened window. She shook her head, but rummaged around in a drawer, pulling out a flashlight and thrusting it at him. “Be my guest. Oh, and take Fenris with you. She could use more exercise.”

“Thanks.”

 

Xxx

 

It was very dark outside. Thorin was no stranger to late nights, but that was in the city, in the ever-bright streets of the Blue Mountains, cars and lights and people everywhere. Out here, he could barely make out the outline of the sky from the dark silhouette of the surrounding trees all around. There were no high-rises, the nearest building was a few minutes drive away, and the light from the house was suddenly intensely bright against the surrounding darkness. There weren't even any lampposts lining the street. That was hardly a surprise as the 'street' was really just a gravel path through the woods, barely wide enough for two lanes.

He gripped the flashlight in his hand and turned it on, the warm, yellow circle of light hovering over the gravel roadi. Fenris wined beside him, nuzzling up against his leg. 

“Come on, girl,” he murmured, stepping off the porch and onto the road. The gravel crunched softly under his boots, mixing with the heavy movement of wind rustling through the trees, the only sounds in the stillness of the night. All around him the trees loomed upwards, dark and silent sentinels, brought alive in the near constant breeze through their boughs. If he looked up he could see patches of sky peeking out, clear and bright, and full of stars.

It was like being in a tunnel. The bright circle of light illuminated wherever he pointed his flashlight, but only showed so much, blinding him to everything beyond its reach. Fenris was a steady presence, the dog trotting along closely to his side, leash jingling softly every once in a while. The rhythmic sound of his footfalls, the feel of the gravel seemed to be the only thing tethering him, the only gravity in the odd dreamlike world he had found himself in.

Fenris stopped, her body tensing.

Thorin opened his mouth but said nothing, the heavy presence of the trees suddenly stifling. Looking up, he realized he couldn’t see the stars anymore. 

The hairs on his arms stood on end. He could feel someone’s eyes on him.

It was cold. It was very cold, his fingers numb around the flashlight, his breath puffing out in a great white mist before him. Or maybe it was just the fog, laying low along the trees.

Fenris growled, baring her teeth defensively at something behind him. 

The light from the flashlight was all but swallowed up in the thick fog, but he could still see enough to make out what was looming out of the trees.

It was not so much dark as it was an absence of light, like the black holes he had read about in school, some uncontrollable entity that devoured everything foolish enough to get in its path. It felt rather like that now. Standing on the lone forest road in the cold, in the fog, his breaths coming out fast and desperate, heart pounding as Fenris barked and growled and whined in distress.

The flashlight flickered for a moment. His teeth clattered together, fingers completely numb, each breath like a sharp jab of ice into his chest. 

It grew larger, the world twisting around him dizzily, eyes drawn to the dark figure and unable to look away. Petrified, like prey before a much larger, dangerous predator.

It was so cold—

Light

Sudden harsh, _blaring_ light exploded in front of him. He thrust his hands in front of his face, stumbling backwards and falling against the glare. A piercing shriek filled the air, and Thorin forced his hands away, squinting desperately.

The darkness shriveled, warping and twisting under the onslaught, a horrible grating moan resonating through the trees. With a great shriek it was gone, lifting away suddenly like a cloud of smoke.

A warm, golden orb floated before him. 

Transfixed, he stared at it. It was beautiful. Soft and glowing, like molten gold, like warm honey and the early sun as it illuminated everything it touched. There was a presence to it. He could feel it looking at him.

The light wavered, and vanished, leaving Thorin alone on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I cut it here because it's been too long since the last update. :S
> 
> I don't think I'll be able to finish this for Halloween. I'll try! Writing just doesn't come naturally to me. It's always a struggle, and it always takes me WAY longer than it should, but I have so many ideas that I keep doing it :]
> 
> Next chapter: we get to find out a bit more about Bilbo...


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween (eve)!

Thorin had lived through some very hard times in his life. He had watched his family, a once stable, unshakable support crumble away, and the life he had known utterly transformed beyond repair. Family tragedy had marred his childhood and early adulthood, leaving him with deep scars that he would carry all of his life. Sometimes emotions would rage through him, angry and loud and destructive as a storm, leaving empty ruin in its wake. Other times it was silent but unimaginably vast, stretching out in a sea of endless directions. 

As it was, when faced with such an explainable and utterly incomprehensible occurrence as what he had seen out on the dark road in Crickhollow, Thorin felt nothing at all. 

It was with a near full-bodied numbness that he walked back to the house that night. Exhaustion lay heavily on his body along with a chill that had set deep in his bones. He barely remembered making it back. Everything was a dream-like blur of the wavering flashlight, the trees endlessly swaying in the wind and the dark tunnel of the woods stretching out before him. 

Fenris kept close to his side, rubbing reassuringly against his leg and yipping softly. She was a great comfort, some other tangible being that had come back with him, another witness to whatever it was that had happened out there in the dark.

Finding the house was almost a shock. He winced, eyes unaccustomed to the brightness of the electric lights in the clearing. He didn’t feel real. Everything felt off, the wood of the porch under his feet, the door in front of him, the utter normality of the building. It felt almost wrong to be there. Thorin half expected some invisible barrier had sprung up between the house and the woods, like a glass wall keeping him out. Out there with the other things that lurked in the woods.

His hand was heavy on the door handle, fingers tightening around it just to steady himself in the present, trying to pull himself away from that darkness and endless trees. Stepping inside was almost a physical relief, like sinking into a pool of warm water. His senses where overwhelmed for a moment, the smells of the house so jarring compared to the scent of dead, wet leaves that clung to his skin.

“Thorin? How was your walk?” came Dís’ voice from the living room. 

“...Fine,” Thorin managed after a minute, and began to take off his boots and coat with only slightly shaking fingers. Fenris immediately darted off into the house, seeking warmth and human contact after the chill. 

“Thorin, are you alright?" asked Dís when he made his way into the living room, "You look a bit pale.”

“Cold outside,” he mumbled.

“Want to watch the rest of the movie with us?!” asked Kili. “It’s really cool!”

“Ah…sure,” he sat down on the couch in a daze, finding Fenris already tucked under a blanket and wedged between the boys. Thorin felt like doing that himself.

“There’s only a few minutes left,” Vili leaned over to whisper. “You look dead tired, mate.”

“Shh!” hushed Kili loudly.

“It’s the best part!” Fili frowned at his dad.

“Sorry! Sorry!” exclaimed Vili guiltily, “I’ll hush!” 

“Shhh!!!”

It seemed like only moments later that the movie was over, and Fili and Kili were running around, talking excitedly. “Come on, it’s time for bed!” called Dís. “Go say goodnight to your uncle!”

Both boys ran up to him, and Thorin grunted when they dropped on him in a pile. His arms came up automatically in a hug.

“Goodnight Uncle Thorin!”

“Good night!”

“Good night,” he replied, the corners of his mouth turning up as they raced upstairs, Vili following to make sure they got in bed.

“Bedtime for you too,” declared Dís firmly, looking at her brother slouched on the couch. “Come on, up you get.”

“I am the eldest,” Thorin said mulishly even as she pulled him to his feet and steered him over to the staircase.

“And this is my home. My rules. Now goodnight,” she hugged him. Thorin leaned into it gladly, the chill from before slow to fade and the exhaustion only growing stronger. “Take it easy, alright?” she said, patting his back.

“You too,” he mumbled.

Thorin crawled into bed, barely managing to shrug off his shirt and trousers before falling into an exhausted sleep

Outside the wind moaned through the trees, a branch scratching against his window, sending eerie shadows across the room from the light of the moon.

 

Xxx

 

When he woke, it was to find himself feeling as if he’d been run over by a truck. He’d spent the night plagued by disturbing dreams, waking up every hour or so only to be dragged back down under by another dream. It was all just a vaguely disturbing blur, and he was glad to have forgotten them. Though the incident in the woods he could remember perfectly, even if it seemed more and more like a dream in the light of the day.

It was light, he realized. There was a small patch of grayish sun coming from the window to slant across the floor. He groaned, realizing with a sinking heart that he had slept in. 

He _hated_ sleeping in. Almost with the same undying passion that he despised that poncy git Thranduil. It was well and fine if he did it under his own power, but _accidentally_ sleeping longer than he intended—it left him disoriented and groggy the whole day. Or what was left of it.

Rolling out of bed, he ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the snarls and tangles he found. Definitely taking a shower before leaving the house. A shiver ran through him and he cleared his throat, thankful to find that it wasn’t dry or scratchy. Just lethargy and chills, apparently. Nothing he hadn’t worked through before.

There was a note on the kitchen table when he made his way down, and a glance at the microwave told him it was half past eleven already. He groaned again, bemoaning having slept almost half the day away. Dís could do that all she liked. Oversleeping had the nasty habit of sitting wrong with his body, leaving his stomach in confused knots and settling an odd kind of urgency and detachment over the rest of the day, trying and failing to make up for lost time and feeling so horribly wrong-footed about he whole thing.

Picking up the note, it was written in his sister’s handwriting:

_There’s Chicken Noodle Soup in the cupboard beside the fridge. Text me if you’re still alive!_

_Love Dís, Vili_

_AND FILI AND KILI_

Smiling at his nephew’s messy writing, he fished out his phone. Firing off a quick text to her, he decided to eat something quick. As tired as he was, he did not want to waste away what little of the day he had left serving his basic needs. Maybe some of that instant soup wouldn’t go amiss.

Armed with his soup in a mug, Thorin sat down at the couch with his laptop. He rubbed at his aching head and glanced out the window, seeing grey overcast sky, the brightly coloured leaves standing out all the more and littering the ground thickly around the house. 

The was a soft snuffling noise off to his right, and suddenly he found himself with a lap-full of wolfhound, Fenris yipping softly at him and curling up. “You too, girl?” he asked, running a hand over her back comfortingly. She gave a grumpy huff and settled in deeper, nuzzling into his belly.

What had happened last night? Had he really encountered some strange supernatural presence? 

Or had it just been some kind of hallucination brought about by an over-stressed psyche. Maybe it was an unfortunate byproduct of his desire to put a shape and form to the feeling of unease that had been slowly but surely settling into the very marrow of his bones the past few days.

He could be going like his grandfather had. 

_No_. He would not allow that to happen.

Maybe last night was just his mind playing a particularly vivid and cruel trick on him. But that did not explain everything else.

Huffing a breath, he ran a hand through his hair.

What did he know?

That incident up on the mountain pass, the man at the dinner talking about strange sightings, those farmers refusing to go out in their fields at night, a missing dog, rumors, local legends—

And one small man that may or may not be in some danger. Who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

 

Searching ‘old forest buckland’ on his laptop immediately brought up what looked like artistic renditions of a spooky forest, the trees half alive and sinister. Scrolling down, he found an article about the High Hay, the huge hedge surrounding western edge of the Old Forest. Apparently it had been maintained since the third age, some sources even indicating that it had been built as a defense against the forest itself. At one time Bucklanders had resorted to burning down a small glade just to keep it in line. The article relied more on old accounts and diaries so for all Thorin knew it could have been completely exaggerated or badly blown out of proportion. 

Interesting.

Cutting to the point, he searched for ‘reaper buckland’. More artistic renderings greeted him. Dark figures in the fog, wraiths attacking children and strange monolithic shapes looming out of the moors. There were some articles, some claims of a creature attacking Bucklanders, someone had even written a very passionate article that linked every disappearance and weather abnormality within the last hundred years to this supposed reaper. But in each case the sources were questionable at best, completely unfounded at worst.

Thorin took a sip of his soup, realizing with an unpleasant shudder that it had gone mostly cold. He stopped suddenly, realizing what he was doing. “Chasing ghosts,” he muttered bitterly, lips twisting into a humorless smile. That had never ended well for his family, had it?

What was he doing? Trying to make up some case about a supernatural wraith in Buckland, The Shire? This is what he did with his time off. Had he really grown so desperate for work that he would fabricate something so ridiculous just to have something to solve?

Groaning he slumped back into the couch, staring dejectedly out the window. It had begun to rain. 

Whatever had happened last night had been the product of his overworked mind and simple country superstition. Nothing more. To even entertain the idea at all had been absurd in the first place.

That settled he shut his laptop and picked up his mug, draining the last third of the cold soup with a grimace. 

He’d stick to what he knew was real and physical. 

After all, he had an apology to give, didn’t he? And with any luck he’d be able to find the one it was owed to.

 

Xxx

 

Thorin scowled at the rain pelting against the window of the café and running in countless drops down the glass. The chill from the previous night still hadn’t left him, even bundled up in three different layers and a coat. He’d driven through first Crickhollow, then Brandy Hall, eyes peeled for any glimpse of Bilbo. He’d had a few close calls. At first he had his eyes peeled for anyone who was small, with blond curly hair and wearing a red cloth jacket. But groggy as he still was, he’d slowly begun to jump at anyone possessing any of the above mentioned qualifiers, stomach lurching unpleasantly every time he spotted someone. Needless to say, after a few hours of sitting mulishly in his parked car, driving from parking lot to parking lot and glaring and squinting out his window into the rain, he was in a decidedly awful mood.

The café had looked warm and welcoming, and even if it was full of people, Thorin was far too cold and fed up to care at this point. Hopefully he’d be able to just blend in with everyone and be allowed to sulk unnoticed. Thorin soon found himself in his own booth with a big mug of coffee and a soup and sandwich combo. It wasn’t enough to make up for the awful day he was having. But it did help. 

Peering out into the rain, finally warm and out of the cold, he very pointedly did not think about whoever might still be out there. Perhaps wandering the drenched streets, looking for a dry spot to shelter under for a while.

His mouth thinned into a grim line. Tomorrow. He’d go out and look again. And as many times as proved necessary. Maybe he’d try to contact a local homeless shelter, if there was one. Hopefully Dwalin would get back to him with whatever he’d been able to find.

A group of women settled down into the booth just in front of his, and he watched them absentmindedly as they hung up their jackets on the side of the booth.

 

“Where’s Marigold? Wasn’t she supposed to be coming today?”

“Didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what? Is something wrong with her?”

“Oh, the poor girl.”

“What? Who?”

“Her daughter, Lily. The eldest, you know. Well, apparently she was out last night, met up with some friends at the Golden Perch. Anyway, she was supposed to be back home by eleven, but she wasn’t. Wouldn’t answer her phone either. And poor Marigold is there, sitting up and worrying about where she was, and it keeps getting later and later with no sign of the girl, and eventually she calls one of Lily’s friends who were with her. But they say she’d left around ten thirty.”

There was a gasp, “What happened?”

“Well, now Marigold was really worried, so she gets Falco up and they decide to take the car and see if they couldn’t find her. And they’re just pulling out of the driveway when Marigold’s phone starts ringing. And it’s the shirriff!”

“No!”

“And he asks if she’s the mother of Lily Boffins, and Marigold says she is, and then he tells her to come down to the hospital real quick, ‘cause her daughter has just been omitted to the ER.”

“Oh, poor Marigold!”

“Goodness! Is Lily alright?! What happened?!”

“The family’s not saying anything, but it’s still too soon to tell.”

“By the Shire. Can you imagine that?”

“Where was Lily driving last night? Not too close to the forest I should hope. Though that might explain things a bit better.” Thorin slowly chewed his sandwich, a cold feeling setting deep in his stomach.

“Well, maybe she was. I don’t know. Marigold said the car had been beaten up a bit, as if she’d driven it off the road and into a ditch or the like.”

“You don’t think it was…well, _you_ know. It being October and all.”

“Really, Ginger! At your age! Talking about such nonsense.”

“Try telling that to Poppy down the way. You know what happened to her boy Hanfred a few years back. He’s still not entirely right.”

“And there were those two Chubb girls, what were there names? Down in Crickhollow near the forest gate.”

“Oh, I couldn’t believe that! I don’t know what Hyacinth was thinking, moving into that house right beside the Old Forest—with two children! Really! What else could have happened?” Thorin dropped his spoon with a clatter, heart suddenly racing.

“Folks did try to warn her.”

“Way I heard it was her husband that was set on the place, being a Chubb and all. He wouldn’t understand.”

“I suppose not.”

“Too stubborn to listen.”

“I’m sure they know _now_ , little good it does them.”

“You know, I heard the house has been sold again. To a family, no less.”

“Really? Goodness, I hope they’re alright.”

“Probably someone from the other farthings.”

“I heard they weren’t from the Shire at all.”

“That would explain it.”

“Poor folks.”

“Now hang on, it’s not a death sentence! I think I may have met them and they seem like a perfectly nice family. The mother seems like the sensible sort, and certainly not the kind to let her children run amok in the dark.”

“Oh good.”

“I still think it’s just all just a big fuss over nothing. All the same, I’ll be sticking close to the main streets. No point in being reckless about it.”

“Of course not. Leave that to the Tooks!”

They all laughed.

“Thank the great fields there’s only a week or so until this is all over.”

“Oh yes, it’s always a relief when November rolls around.”

“Speaking of which, we need to get to business! Now, poor Marigold will be far too busy with her family to do her part—as she should be! We’ll just sort this out between the four of us and let her know we’ve got it all under control and not to fret.”

“She certainly doesn’t need anything else to worry about.”

“Goodness, no. Poor thing.”

“Right. Now, to work...” 

 

Thorin sat in his booth unmoving, hand clenched tightly into fists. His mind whirled, trying to make sense of everything he’d just heard.

That was Dís’ house they were talking about. In Crickhollow near the forest gate. It _had_ to be. Something had happened there, to the children of the previous owners. Whatever it was, it was bad. And apparently was likely to happen again.

Fili and Kili.

His nephews.

 _No_.

But what did he have to go on? It was just small talk, he thought to himself desperately. Just gossip. Gossip about a girl who had been hospitalized just last night. Something that was apparently not so very uncommon this time of year.

Was it enough? Was it enough to take seriously? To investigate? All the strange rumors he had been hearing, his own experience last night?

Could he even risk being wrong if it meant Fili and Kili could be put in danger?

His breathing slowed and his mind began to clear. There was only one answer to that question, and that was _no_. He would not risk his family. Country superstition or no, he would not take that chance. And if it really was just gossip, then he’d find out and could put the whole stupid thing behind him. 

There was nothing else for it.

He’d have to confront it.

 

Xxx

 

It had finally stopped raining by the time Thorin made it back to Crickhollow. The heavy rain had turned into a softly falling mist that hung in the air, making the chill doubly so for the lingering dampness. The trees and fields sped by, the car sloshing through deep muddy puddles and damp leaves layered thick across the roads. 

Most of Crickhollow’s roads wove thickly through the woods, the trees occasionally cutting off sharply at a property line or field. Though it was not even five in the afternoon, the heavy sky had already begun to darken. The trees opened around the road like a damp tunnel, leaves occasionally hitting against the car with a dull _thwack_ as they stuck wetly before being blown off.

The forest gate was just a bit south of the house. It was easily recognized by a wooden sign reading: ‘Old Forest Gate: Private Property: Keep Out!’ Thorin slowed the car to a stop and stared at the path leading away from the main road. That was it. 

He drove slowly, the pavement turning to wood-chips and the path itself bumpy and uneven the further in he went. There at the end of it was the gate.

Thorin stopped, putting on the parking break and stepping out into the woods. The High Hay stretched out before him, a huge, imposing hedge grown to act as the living boundary between the Shire and the Old Forest. The trees looming beyond the hedge looked wilder somehow, the shadows darker between their boughs, almost hostile. It wasn’t hard to see why people called this place haunted.

If this really was the source of all the strange happenings, then Thorin would find out. That was his job, after all. To get to the bottom of things, shed light on the truth. Whatever that truth may be.

The forest rustled darkly, branches creaking and moaning in the near dark, sending a chill up his spine. A long brick tunnel marked the entrance, running clear from once side of the hedge to the other. It stretched an impossible distance into the dark. Thorin walked closer, digging out a flashlight. Flicking it on, he took a deep breath and entered the tunnel—only to shine light upon what looked to be a very sturdy metal gate blocking the way.

A smile twitched at his mouth. Some rusty old gate couldn’t keep Oakenshield out. He’d gotten through much more impressive defenses than this when the occasion called for it. The metal was cold and wet under his hands, and latched securely by a heavy lock. Tugging on it revealed it to still be in good shape, old as it looked. He’d have to pick it, maybe even—

“Hey!” 

The flashlight nearly fell out of his hands, Thorin turned wildly, squinting against the sudden blare of a headlight. “What are you doing?” A figure quickly appeared at the entrance of tunnel. 

Thorin held back a gasp as the headlights lit up their curly hair in an eerily familiar way. 

“This is private property!” 

His spirits plummeted, the person finally close enough for him to make out his features. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t Bilbo. Shire typical curly hair aside, it was a disappointing dark brown colour. And his features were too squarish by far and his form all wrong. He was rather angry though, which he did have in common with Bilbo. At least on their last interaction. Regrettably. 

“Why is it fenced off?” Thorin asked gruffly, the bite of disappointment making him less than amiable towards this stranger.

“What?” squawked the man incredulously, nostrils flaring. “Because it’s private! To keep people like _you_ out of it!”

“But why the hedge? Why such precaution?” questioned Thorin, trying to get a reaction out of him. Hopefully some answers as well.

“Precaution?” the man spluttered indignantly. “Oh, you’re one of _those_ types. Every damn year there’s always some idiot looking for thrills, trying to get in here. Look, I don’t _care_ if you get off on this. You stay away from the Old Forest, and especially at night! It’s dangerous, alright?!” He grabbed Thorin by the arm as if to physically remove him. The larger man easily broke his grip, walking out of the tunnel at his own pace. The stanger followed quickly, appearing equally angry and uncomfortable in equal parts.

“What are you doing here if it’s so dangerous?” tried Thorin, not giving up on his impromptu interrogation.

The shorter man’s eye’s narrowed, even as he shot a quick glance back at the gate. “Think you’re smart, eh? I’m keeping you damn tourists out, that’s what! This forest is owned by _my_ family, and I’m well within my right to have you sued for trying to break in! Now get!”

“It’s nearly dark, is it safe for you to—“

“By the green lady, I’m not a bloody idiot! I’ve got security cameras pointed at this tunnel 24/7. It’s no trouble at all to call the Shirriff up at the first sign of trouble. So don’t you get any ideas about snooping back here again!”

“Sir, have you ever seen anything dangerous come out of this forest?” asked Thorin lowly. The man’s eye’s widened and he shook his head, glancing fearfully at the gate.

“No fucking way, I’m not doing this. I, I don’t _care_ if you’re some, some wannabe journalist—“

So there really was true fear around this place. This wasn’t the reaction of an angry landowner protesting a trespasser. This man was scared, scared of what could happen. 

“My family lives in the house just down the way,” That stopped the man. A look of concern flashed across his face, quickly covered by anxiety and agitation. “I need to know,” Thorin said slowly, fixing him with a stare, “Are they in danger?”

“Now, now look,” he began after a tense moment of silence, wringing his hands and inching towards his car. “Shirriff Maggot is who you need to speak to about...all _that_. Here,” He quickly dug into his pocket and thrust out a card at Thorin. “That’s got his information on it. You just, be careful. Stay in the light. Don’t wander off from the main paths, and certainly not at night! No more of this! Definitely not until November, and even then, well.” He shrugged helplessly and made for his car, parked with the headlights still on just a little ways from Thorin’s.

“You have my thanks,” called Thorin, “Mister..?”

“Ah, Brandybuck. Saradoc Brandybuck.” For all of his clear fearfulness, Saradoc made sure Thorin left first, only driving away himself after seeing the other car get back onto the main road.

Stay in the light? There wasn’t much of that to be seen as Thorin drove through the winding road back towards the house. The few patches of sky he could make out from beneath the trees were still deeply overcast, having fully darkened to a deep blue-grey. Water dripped off of the leaves, cascading down with the wind in sudden sprays and landing to run down the windshield. The headlights of the car were the only two point of brightness in the otherwise dark woods. If there were any streetlights, Thorin couldn’t tell. They had either burned out or were never put up in the first place. 

It seemed there may be some danger after all. 

What he had wasn’t enough of an answer. People were clearly scared, and had gone to lengths to take precautions. Against what? 

It would be difficult to try getting into the forest through the gate again. Not when he’d already been spotted once and there were security cameras. He could try climbing the hedge. But chances were he’d not be able to find the forest path from wherever he managed to get in.

Small wisps of fog flitted past his window, creeping out silently from between the trees.

Or…

He slowed down, pulling over onto the grass and stopping beside a tree. Taking a deep breath he opened the door, stepping out into the cold of the night. He took great care to leave the headlights on. He walked around to the side of the car and peered out into the darkness.

_Stay in the light_

If there really was something out here…

 

_“Hey!”_

Startling at the voice, Thorin turned, seeing the shape of the Brandybuck man from before walking towards him. Irritated, he opened his mouth to tell him off—but stopped, eyes widening as the man came close closer.

“What do you think you’re _doing?!_ Do you have a death wish, you, you insufferable idiot!?” Bilbo yelled, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathed, drinking in the sight of the smaller being. “I, I’m sorry about—“

“Oh _no_ , not another word out of you!” he hissed at Thorin threateningly. “Get back in your car and go!”

“Bilbo, I—“

“Wasn’t last night enough!? Are you _trying_ to kill yourself, you stupid man!? How many people have to tell you it’s not safe before you…” Bilbo trialed off as a low moan sounded through the trees, fog laying over the ground thickly. His eyes widened and he paled. “Thorin, get in the car,” he said quietly, glancing about the trees nervously. “Get in the car and get out of here.”

“What’s—“

“GET IN THE CAR!”

“Not without you,” Thorin growled, glaring at the smaller man. If that _thing_ was coming there was no way he’d leave Bilbo alone with it. Bilbo shot him a look of sheer panic and frustration, making a noise high in his throat.

“We don’t have time for this! Get in the bloody car!”

“You first!”

“NO! Won’t you just—“

“Do _not_ ask me to leave you here!”

“I’m _telling_ you to get in the fucking—ah!“ Bilbo broke off as Thorin made a grab for him, the blond jumping defensively back and away from the larger man.

“Bilbo,” began Thorin darkly, “Either you get in the car. Or I won’t.” Bilbo stood there for a moment, frozen in indecision. He opened his mouth and then shut it, brow twisting and hands shaking. 

“Fine!” he eventually yelled, darting for the car. “Just _move!_ ”

But Thorin had no sooner opened the door before a deep rattling sound resounded out of the trees. Bilbo froze, eyes wide. 

 

It was cold. 

 

So cold. 

 

Frost was forming across the glass of the window. Thorin’s breath puffed out in front of him, blending in the with the thick, swirling fog all around. He shivered, the hair on his arms all standing on end, fingers and toes beginning to prickle and go numb. 

“Thorin, stay behind me!” Bilbo’s voice came as if from far away, jolting Thorin out of a near daze. He looked up.

Bilbo was silhouetted against the bright headlights, the fog turning golden around him.

What? 

He had seen this before.

The trees gave a nauseating twist, causing his vision to tunnel. A dark shape loomed out of the trees, sending a deep, low rattling through the woods, muffling all other sounds in its wake. He was shaking, it was so _cold_ , and he couldn’t look away from the thing as it grew larger and larger, eating up everything in it’s way.

He blinked as Bilbo stepped in front of him, blocking him from the dark piercing gaze. Panic gripped Thorin at the sight of the small man in the path of such darkness. He had to do something, _anything_ —

 

The fog turned a bright, glowing gold, all of it at once, swirling around Bilbo. And Thorin realized it wasn’t the fog. It was Bilbo himself. He glowed.

A bright, golden light, exploded outward. An inhuman shriek rent the air, sending Thorin to the ground with the force of it. Light flashed and he covered his eyes, feeling some great presence passing over him.

It stopped. 

_Bilbo._

The man was bent over, breathing harshly and shaking, forcing rasping breaths through his small body. Thorin scrambled shakily to his feet, needing to make sure Bilbo was alright, that he hadn’t been hurt.

“Bilbo,” he asked softly, approaching the small man carefully. He didn’t respond. The blond just stood there, doubled over, fighting to breath. Looking for all the world as if he’d collapse at any moment.

" _Bilbo, _” Thorin breathed. He reached out a hand slowly, knowing the man avoided physical contact but being unable to resist, the need to comfort and protect too strong to ignore. He placed his hand gently upon Bilbo’s heaving back—__

__

__Only for it to go right through._ _

__

__With a startled gasp, Bilbo whirled around, eyes wide and face deathly pale. His eyes jumped from Thorin’s hand to his face again and again, horror written across his features. He shook his head as if in denial._ _

__“T-Thorin, I, I-It’s, it’s not, I..I..” his face changed from anger to fear to an anguished sadness all within the span of a few moments. A terrible sound somewhere between a sob and a cry escaped him—_ _

__And then Bilbo vanished. Simply gone as if he had been a wisp blown away on the breeze._ _

__

__Thorin stared numbly down at his hand, still raised. He slowly curled his fingers, eyes stinging painfully as they were met with nothing but air._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm, so... I know that 'happy ending' tag isn't looking so good right about now. You have to trust me on this, I want to see these two be happy together as much as you do! I mean, they're gonna suffer first, but I do have something planned. ;)
> 
> This fic is NOT going to be finished by Halloween. While I was writing it I kept getting ideas and expanding it more than I had originally intended to. We're maybe halfway at this point. I'll try to keep the updates as frequent as I can, so I'm putting my other fics on hold.
> 
> (And kudos to those who figured out that there was something supernatural going on with Bilbo! :D )


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly conversations. And plot development, wooo!

“Hello?”

“Thorn, it’s Dwalin. I found something you want to hear about.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Yeah_ , don’t sound so glum. It’s about your mystery man, Baggins.”

“…Ah.”

“Thorin, there _are_ no Bilbo Bagginses living in the Shire. There hasn’t been a Bilbo Baggins in the Shire for nearly 200 years! Do you know what that means?”

_He’s been dead for a long time_

“It means he’s using it as an alias,” Thorin blinked at the voice at the other end. “It’s not his real name. Unless if he was never registered at birth, it’s some kind of a nick name.”

“Could be,” Thorin offered without any conviction. There was a very good reason Dwalin couldn’t find a _living_ Bilbo Baggins.

Because the Bilbo Baggins Thorin knew, the kind, charming little man that made his heart flutter and ache, was _dead_ , and had been for apparently 200 years. Give or take. 

“The Shire’s overflowing with Bagginess, but there’s only a handful of Bilbos. So maybe he just 'goes' by Bilbo Baggins. Hell, it could even be a code name for all we know.”

Thorin frowned. “Code name? What, do you think he’s some kind of criminal? That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said!”

“Calm down, I don’t think your boyfriend is a criminal. Shouldn’t dismiss it as an option, though I doubt it.”

“He’s not…he’s not my boyfriend.”

And never would be. Because Bilbo was a ghost.

“But you want him to be.”

“…Yes.” 

Thorin slumped, defeated. It was true. Fate had always seemed to laugh at him, hurting the people he loved. Except this time, instead of waiting for tragedy to strike Thorin was already too late to prevent it. He hadn’t even had a chance of helping Bilbo. Never had. And never would. 

“Look, I gotta tell you something,” Dwalin continued, oblivious to his friend’s emotional turmoil. “Let’s say ‘Bilbo Baggins’ isn’t his real name. Why would he choose this name? What’s his connection to it?”

“You tell me, you’ve got the information,” Thorin sniped back, feeling drained and bitter and lost, laying back on his bed to stare numbly at the ceiling.

“That I do. And Thorin, there is some sketchy shite in that file.”

“What?”

“The last Bilbo Baggins born in the Shire, or anywhere for that matter, died under 'suspicious circumstances' in 5A3402.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Foul play?”

“Nah, look. Baggins up and goes missing one day after going on about some kind of conspiracy happening in Buckland. Kept talking about ‘evil spirits’ and ‘cults’, really odd stuff. People figured he’d snapped and run off, died somewhere in the wild. There was a search but they wrote him off as dead after a few weeks. Thing is, a couple of kids went missing. One of them was Bilbo’s nephew, and as soon as he vanished _that’s_ when Bilbo started going all funny. He must have thought he found out what had happened to the kids but no one would believe him. Locals started saying he was mad. Right after Bilbo disappears, all the missing kids show up in Buckland, alive and unhurt. Hell, maybe he did know something.”

There was a rushing in his ears. Thorin felt his fingers shaking as he gripped his phone tightly.

“Thorin? Thorin? You still there? You alright?”

“I have to go.”

“Thorin? Thorin! Thorin, don’t—for fuck’s sake.”

 

Dwalin: 9:13PM, Oct 24

Pick up your damn phone.

 

 

Dwalin: 9:20PM, Oct 24

What’s wrong?

 

 

Dwalin: 10:07PM, Oct 24

Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are you going to keep sulking?

 

 

Dwalin: 11:54PM, Oct 24

Alright fine, but this isn’t over. You take it easy, all right? I’ll check in again tomorrow. 

 

Xxx

 

The rain continued long into the night, blowing into a full storm and fading to a steady downpour by morning. It stayed much the same throughout the day, wet leaves blustering about and sticking to the window before sliding back down and away. From his place on the couch, it looked like a thoroughly miserable and cold day to be out.

If there was any kind of a silver lining to…recent events, at least he needn’t worry if Bilbo was keeping warm and dry or not. At least the small man could come and go as he pleased, even barefoot without fear of the elements.

Except that Bilbo couldn’t go as he pleased. 

He’d longed to travel and had looked so forlorn and _hungry_ —

Thorin squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbing a hand across his face. Who was to say Bilbo wasn’t cold and miserable, or even in danger from that thing in the woods? He actually wished that Bilbo had been some poor soul going through hard times instead of, of being…

Dead and gone.

Only not gone, just yet.

For there was no other explanation than that Bilbo was a ghost. One minute Bilbo had been there, terrified, looking just as shocked as Thorin had when his hand had gone right through his shoulder, and then Bilbo simply vanished. 

In retrospect, it explained a lot.

One part of his mind whispered that this proved his sanity, that his experiences and reactions were perfectly valid and sane in the face of the clearly supernatural.

Yet another voice whispered that he had cracked entirely to have seen any of it at all in the first place. As soon as Dain had dismissed him from work, he’d been gone, first creating the encounter on the mountain pass, then fabricating a man that he was ridiculously attracted to—

Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to Bilbo. He had made him up. Someone who was everything he was looking for. Only, even in his fantasies nothing could go right.

No

No, he was a detective.

If he couldn’t trust his own scenes and intuition, he couldn’t trust anything. And he refused to believe this whole thing had been his mind turning against him. (No matter that it had happened to his Grandfather, making Thorin more susceptible to the same).

His phone vibrating once on the table shook him from his thoughts. A text. After a while he scooped it up, scowling at the screen.

 

Dwalin: 10:29AM, Oct 25

You alive?

 

His lips turned up bitterly. More than he could say for some.

 

Xxx

 

Thorin: 10:34AM, Oct 25

Yeah. You?

 

Dwalin: 10:37AM, Oct 25

You know something, don’t you? About Bilbo. What am I missing?

 

Dwalin: 10:42AM, Oct 25

Did you get a chance to apologize? You didn’t get into another fight, did you? 

 

Thorin: 10:58AM, Oct 25

No. Yes. It doesn’t matter anymore.

 

Dwalin: 11:03AM, Oct 25

What do you mean it doesn’t matter? He’s not married or anything, is he? Is he actually some kind of a drug lord?

 

Thorin: 11:37AM, Oct 25

I don’t want to talk about it.

 

 

Dwalin: 12:01PM, Oct 25

So what do you think is the problem? Is it him? Is he some serial killer? Did you find out he’s a royal prat or something?

 

Thorin: 12:05PM, Oct 25

NO! It’s nothing he’s done. It just can’t happen, alright? Drop it.

 

Dwalin: 12:14PM, Oct 25

Ach, lad. Don’t doubt yourself so much. Just take a few days off, alright? Actually pretend you’re on holiday for crying out loud. Just give yourself some time and think things over. See how you feel.

 

Dwalin: 2:08PM, Oct 25

You know he lives in the area, you can always come back later if you want to. It’s not like he’s dead or anything.

 

 

Thorin: 8:26PM, Oct 25

I don’t want to talk about it.

 

 

Xxx

 

Dwalin: 7:49PM, Oct 25

How’s your new house guest? All nice and shiny and preppy, or is it just me?

 

Dís: 7:54PM, Oct 25

He spent all of today at home. Voluntarily. He was a bit sick a few days ago, but even then he was still driving around.

 

Dwalin: 8:01PM, Oct 25

Typical. Look, he’s not doing so great right now. I don’t know all of it, but I’d keep an eye on him. You know how he gets.

 

Dís: 8:04PM, Oct 25

I’ve told the boys they get to have movie time with their uncle after dinner. They’re going all out with blankets and popcorn and uncle Thorin in the middle. 

 

Dwalin: 8:09PM, Oct 25

Good lass. 

 

Dís: 8:17PM, Oct 25

Is it anything I should know about?

 

Dwalin: 8:23PM, Oct 25

He met someone. Apparently they really hit it off, and you know that never happens for him. Long story short, Thorin thinks the man is in some kind of trouble and they got into a fight. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but whatever happened really got to him.

 

Dís: 8:29PM, Oct 25

That would explain it. It looks more serious than a bad date. I’d almost say he’s shell-shocked.

 

Dwalin: 8:33PM, Oct 25

Damn. Let me know if he gets any worse. I’ll come up there if I have to. I know we only said it was for two weeks, but if he needs it Dain can extend his time off as long as needed. 

 

Dís: 8:35PM, Oct 25

Good. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

 

Xxx

 

On the couch in the living room, Thorin found himself comfortably squished between his two nephews, covered in what must have been four blankets and had a large bowl of popcorn unceremoniously shoved into his hands because he was in the middle, and so he had to hold it. Any ideas he might have had about retiring upstairs early were utterly dashed, especially as Fenris trotted over, slinking under the blankets and laying across his lap.

“Everybody comfy?” asked Vili, who was in charge of setting everything up.

“Yes!”

“Ok, what’s the movie gonna be for tonight?” Vili loaded up their Netflix on the tv screen.

“We have to watch a Halloween movie because it’s next week,” Fili explained to Thorin solemnly, Kili nodding along enthusiastically.

“Ooh, scary stuff!” commented Vili with a shiver. “I’m glad I won’t be watching tonight! You boys make sure your uncle doesn’t get too scared.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kili said, “Uncle Thorin is a detective. He deals with monsters all the time!”

“Yeah, he won’t be scared!”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“Unlike _you_ , daddy.”

“What?!” Vili clasped a hand to his chest in shock. “Are you saying your uncle is braver than _me?_ Your own pa?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeeaaah!!”

“Awwww, my own kids!” he exclaimed, hamming it up. “Turning against their poor old dad! Oh, woe is me, what did I ever do to deserve such a fate?”

Fili and Kili were both giggling as their father lay down on the floor and continued to wallow.

“Daaaaddy, you’re so silly!”

“You gotta put the movie on now, that’s the rules!”

“What? Oh, alright alright, I’m going!” Vili got to his feet and gave an exaggerated groan, making a show of stretching his back.

“Daaaaady!!”

“So what am I putting on?” 

“Umm…”

“Maybe ‘The Little Witch’?”

“We watched that a few days ago.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Do you feel like…‘Coraline’? Or maybe ‘The Mirkwood’?”

“Umm…maybe a bit closer to Halloween?”

“Ok.”

“…’Casper’?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Ok, we’ve decided.”

“Casper it is! You boys enjoy yourself. Don’t let Thorin get scared!”

“Daa _aad!”_

 

This was good. He could work with this. It was comforting to have Fili and Kili close and warm against him on the couch, excitedly chattering through the opening credits of the movie and grabbing handfuls of popcorn.

And then the movie started.

Oh shite.

_Shite._

It was a movie about a friendly ghost. 

Of course it bloody was.

He stared morosely at the floor, biting his lip to contain the sound of helpless frustration threatening to crawl out of his throat.

 

_“All ghosts have unfinished business…”_

 

 _What was yours?_ he wondered, thinking of golden curls and a crooked smile.

 

Xxx

 

After spending all of yesterday inside laying around the house miserably, Thorin felt awful. Unsurprisingly. An inactive lifestyle did not suit him at all. He felt disgusting and stale and knew he at least needed to go for a walk. Get out of the house at the very least. Face his demons and all.

That perhaps wasn’t the best analogy to be using in his current circumstance. 

There was a bit of weak sun peaking out from beneath the clouds when he crunched through the leaves that had fallen across the driveway. A good sign, he supposed glumly. 

What he needed, he decided then, was to have a drink. If he got absolutely wasted, then, it was still early enough for him to regain his sobriety and make it back for dinner. He’d try not to get smashed. But maybe that was just what he needed.

 

Wasn’t it enough that the first man that he felt such a strong attraction to in years had to be _dead?_ But now to find out that he had died so suspiciously—probably died alone and having everyone think he was _mad_. 

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He cleared his throat, frustrated and suddenly angry.

It wasn’t fair. None of it. Not to him, and certainly not to Bilbo.

The ghost.

Thorin had reasoned that the best way to deal with something utterly beyond what he could comprehend was to distance himself from the situation. He thought it would be easier to deal with if he thought of Bilbo as ‘the ghost’, some supernatural entity instead of a small, charming man called Bilbo Baggins. Who just happened to be dead.

That plan had lasted all of a minute before it had failed.

Try as he might, Thorin found he could not think of Bilbo as anything other than Bilbo. Whatever the man may or may not be, it was proving to be entirely too…difficult, to think of him as anything less. To say he was a ghost would be the same as saying he had blond hair or an unfairly attractive smile. Part of, but not the defining feature.

All the same, it didn’t really matter how he thought of Bilbo, only that he did. And that Bilbo was safe from the kind of dangers he had been worried originally worried about, and instead possibly facing an entirely different kind of trouble that Thorin could do nothing against.

 

Brandybuck Hall had a few pubs, and the one that Thorin had chosen was welcoming enough. Mostly empty at this time of day, it was furnished with smooth polished wood and rich colours. He steeped inside, peering around and debating if he should get a booth or stay at the bar.

 

“Oi! Thorin!" 

"A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Bofur, smiling at him in a vaguely threatening sort of way. “Right this way if you please.” Before he knew it he had been ushered over to a booth near the back occupied by a man with rather wild salt and pepper hair.

“My cousin Bifur.” The hatted man explained, all but shoving Thorin onto the booth across from the other. “Bif, this is Thorin.” The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at him, and he started moving his hands in a rapid way—sign language. “Yes, _that_ Thorin.”

Bifur scowled at Thorin, shaking his head and making a low growling noise. 

“Well that’s why he’s here.”

"I'm sorry, I don't-" a waiter arrived cutting Thorin off. Bofur ordered a round of beers for everyone and a salad for Bifur.

“So, let’s get to the point,” stated Bofur pleasantly once the waiter had left. “I invited you to here on behalf of a very good friend of mine. You see, he’s been absolutely miserable lately, sulkin' around and mopin'. I can’t stand it. There’s a lot of things I can deal with, but him depressed—nope. Not at all.”

Bifur grunted in agreement, nodding fiercely. Thorin opened his mouth “What—“

“And let me tell you,” Bofur continued, cutting Thorin off, “There is something _awful_ about seeing a ghost cry.”

Some kind of strangled noise made it out of his throat. “Bilbo,” he breathed, the image of the small ghost wet and miserable and crying suddenly ran across his mind, and his stomach clenched in distress.

“Aye,” Agreed Bofur darkly. Both were watching him closely. Thorin took a breath and steeled himself. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but somethin' clearly did. He doesn’t make friends easy, which isn’t a big surprise considerin'. Whatever you did, he’s really upset. He’s not talkin' much either...” Bofur trailed off with a sigh. “Which is a bad sign.”

“...It wasn’t my intention to cause him harm," Thorin confessed quietly, hands clenching in his lap. "Though it seems I have.” Bifur nudged his cousin and began signing rapidly, sending a stern look in Thorin’s direction.

“We’d like to know what your intentions are towards Bilbo, if you’d be so kind,” Bofur stated, watching Thorin closely.

What his intentions were...

He’d have liked nothing better than to have seen Bilbo again, met him at a café or for dinner, see his eyes light up as they did when he spoke so longingly of seeing other places—

But that could never happen. Because Bilbo was dead.

 

“I…I am sincerely sorry for hurting him,” said Thorin solemnly. “It was never my intention. I didn’t know that he, he was…I only knew I enjoyed his company. And I still do. I would be his friend, if I could.”

And that was the truth of it. Whatever he was allowed, he would accept of Bilbo.

Bifur made a sound of approval, but Bofur wasn’t satisfied. “Are you goin' to study him?" he asked, eyes cold. "Chase him around with that damn equipment and record what happens? Try to get a rise out of him and put it on film? If you’re a damn paranormal junkie, I won’t be accountable for my actions if you exploit him like that!”

“No!" exclaimed Thorin, horrified at the very idea. "No, I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“He said you were an officer or something of the like,” continued Bofur shrewdly. “Are you making an investigation of him?”

“I-” Thorin stopped. "I wanted to help him. He had no shoes. I worried he was in some trouble.”

“Because you wanted to help him, or because you saw a potential case?”

“To _help_ him. It drew on my conscious that I had left him like that.”

“So you pitied him.”

“I worried for him!" corrected Thorin, barely holding back a growl. "I liked him immediately. Of course I didn’t want to think of something bad happening to him.”

Bifur elbowed his cousin in the side and made a rude looking sign, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Bofur sent a wide grin across the table .

“Sooo,” he began, taking a swig of his beer. “You _like_ Bilbo?” Thorin felt his entire face and neck and ears heating up, surely turning him an embarrassing red colour. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to clear his throat and fighting back the impulse to hide behind his hands.

Yes. He liked Bilbo very much.

“Ah…yes. I, I do, yes. He’s…very, yes.” Bifur grinned at him, taking a large bite out of his salad.

“And you know what he is now,” affirmed Bofur. “Do you still like him even though he’s not so fleshy and boney?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, you’re in luck," Bofur declared. "He just so happens to like you too.” Thorin’s eyes snapped up hopefully, his heart skipping a beat. 

What? 

Bilbo liked him?

Bilbo _liked_ him?

Bilbo Baggins liked Thorin Oakenshield?

Bofur chuckled, his cousin outright laughing at Thorin’s expression. “Aye, that’s what I’ve gathered. I’ve never seen him that moody before, he kept talkin' about ‘annoyingly dense and attractive men’ and Thorin's ‘big stupid handsome face’. Wouldn’t tell me much else mind, just that things'd been mucked up and you knew he wasn't human. Not too many people are alright with that kind of thing.”

“What _is_ Bilbo?” asked Thorin cautiously, finally feeling his blush receding. It was something he had been both dreading and needing to know.

“Ach, well…” Bofur was suddenly reluctant. He took a large swig of beer. Bifur grunted and inclined his head towards Thorin meaningfully. 

“Oh, alright. See, when I was just a wee lad, before my brother had been born, Bif here would look after me sometimes. Wasn’t that much older than me, but old enough. One day we were out in the woods near the Brandywine, just walkin' around, explorin' here and there. It was about this time of year, and you know how quick it gets dark. Everythin’ was fine until all of a sudden this fog starts creepin' out. Before I knew it I had lost sight of Bifur and couldn’t tell my face from my arse.” 

Thorin felt a chill down his spine.

“It’s cold and dark and there’s this awful rattlin’ noise like one of those snakes all around, so I started hollerin’ for my cousin, wee thing that I was," continued Bofur. "Bifur, bless him, had a flashlight, and next thing I know he’s grabbed my hand and starts running. Only, eh…we, we weren’t fast enough.”

“This, ah… _thing_ comes out of the fog like some, some kind of specter, all cloaked and shrouded and lookin’ like death itself. Bifur being the capital fellow he is, pushed me behind him, told me to run for help. I managed to trip right away and land on me face, and then Bif starts screamin’ away." Bofur's eyes had lost all their usual cheer, and suddenly he looked much older. Bifur gave him a soft nudge and he shook himself. "Mahal, to this day I still get the shivers just thinking about it.”

“Anyway, I’d about figured our time was up, when suddenly there’s this blindin’ light explodin' out of nowhere. Chased off that thing right quick. Next thing I know Bifur’s on the ground and there’s this small little man kneelin’ beside him, cute as a button. He told us he was here to help and led us back to the road. The shirriffs were already there, watching for us when we got out. I’d gotten a bad shock, but Bif here got the full blast. He was in the hospital for days. Hasn’t spoken a word since.”

“Now, imagine my surprise when I see the same little man who saved us and point him out to my ma, only to have her say she can’t see no one? But _I_ could see him clear as day. So could Bifur. Every time I saw him he always looked so sad so I took to tryin’ to cheer him up. Of course, we’ve more or less adopted Bilbo at this point, as best we can in any case. Mahal knows he has a hard time of things as he is.” Bofur took a long draw off his beer.

“He works too hard, see?" he said, suddenly angry. "Tries to look after everyone. Won’t talk about it, but somehow or other he’s connected to that reaper thing out there. Don’t know how, but he can tell when it’s going after someone. He can stop it…usually, but it takes a huge toll out of our Bilbo, it does. Still does it, of course. He feels _responsible_ , like everyone who goes missin’ or gets hurt is his fault. We’ve told him that’s rubbish more times than I can count, but there you have it.”

Thorin’s head was reeling, trying to process what he had been told. A sinking feeling of dread uncurled in his stomach , and he remembered his own far too close encounter in the woods. Only to be saved by Bilbo. Not an uncommon occurrence apparently. But the very thought that Bilbo was somehow tied to that horrible… _thing_ —

“Look,” Bofur said suddenly, clearly more than a bit tipsy. “If you’re gonna be a prick to Bilbo, you can just fuck off, aye? He’s my friend, and I won’t stand for it.”

“I never meant to hurt him,” Thorin said again, no less sincere for saying as much before. “And I’ll try my best not to do so again.”

“Good. He does like you more than a bit, too. He’s been alone for a long time. You have to be kind to him, yeah?”

"Yes. Of course."

Bifur began to sign something. His cousin hummed, "That's right. You still need to apologize to Bilbo."

"He can be very difficult to find," muttered Thorin, thinking back to the miserable day he had spent driving around in the rain watching out for any glimpse of golden curls.

"Aye, that he can!" laughed Bofur. "You'd best make your intentions clear and wait for him to approach you. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be found at all. He likes the park in front of the library. You wait there and you'll be getting a visit from a wee ghostie soon enough, mark my words!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know realistically in a modern middle earth they wouldn't have the same movies and software as us, but for the sake of the story I'm going to make some exceptions. :D
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly ten months since the last chapter! *facepalm*  
> New plan: I'm going to try and finish this for Halloween THIS year.
> 
> To anyone who's still with this story, I am so sorry for the wait, and thank you SO much for sticking around <333
> 
>  **chapter warnings:** feeling of being trapped, helplessness, mild panic attack.

The cold was the first thing became aware of. 

Damp and chill had seeped so deeply into his skin his very bones ached with it. His heart was slow and heavy in his chest, each beat sending out a dull throb of pain. Every breath was laborious and rattling, the air he drew in damp and cloying, thick with scent of rot and decay all around.

 

He tried to move. 

 

His limbs were so heavy and weak it took all he had just to twitch his fingers, and even then the effort left him dizzy and exhausted. Sweat beaded out across his clammy skin, but all he could feel was the cold, burning and biting.

 

Someone was watching him.

 

Pulse spiking in fear, he tried again to move, managing only a weak jerk of his elbow. His muscles strained against his will, tensing in blind panic. A broken moan escaped him.

Something moved. It was barely more than a whisper, but he knew it was there, lurking in the dark. Watching him. 

A wave of fear crashed over him, images forcing themselves through his mind.

_\--Clammy, cold, long pale fingers like bones in the dark, everything was rust and blood and decay and the darkness, suffocating and cloying, heavy and choking, grasping—_

 

It was too much, too much and he needed it to _stop_ , needed release, the touch of sunlight or death, anything but _this_.

A long rattling sound reverberated through the room, and his breath stuttered. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut but it was no use, his sight was gone and there would no escape for him, nothing between him and—

 

Thorin shot up in bed with a gasp. 

 

He blinked rapidly, taking in the familiar sight of the room around him, the bed, the feel of the sheets, the clock radio on the bedside table glowing 3:27am in faint green light. Fear and revulsion were slow to leave and he shuddered at the memory of that awful place his dreams had taken him.

Wherever it was. 

It felt like a tomb.

He shivered. 

It would not do to dwell on nightmares.

Taking deep breaths through his mouth he willed himself to calm down. Sweat cooled on his skin and he grasped at the covers, feeling up his wrists and up his arms to chase away the phantom feel of cruel iron and stone.

 _It was just a dream_ , he told himself fimrly, _a dream. Nothing more._

 

A dream that felt far too real. 

Thorin shook himself and buried his face in his hands, kneading at his scalp with his fingers, breathing slowly and carefully. Once calm, he settled back down in bed, willing away the creeping claustrophobia from the dream. The sheets were cool on his skin and he could make out the familiar shapes of his room, the alarm clock still glowing beside him on the bedside table, the night sky from the window. 

He let out a long breath and resolutely closed his eyes. He was safe, it was just a dream.

 

Sleep did not find him again that night.

 

Xxx

 

There was a presence off to his left. 

Thorin licked his lips and fought the urge to turn and look. It wasn’t an obvious presence, nor a very large one. But Thorin felt it all same as if it was. His heart skipped a beat. He forced his breath to remain even and steady, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on a patch of grass a foot in front of him.

 _Carefully_ , he told himself. It would not do to startle him, after all.

It had been a gradual awareness, Thorin sitting on the bench, a book open on his lap though he was hardly paying attention to it. And then a slight sigh had sounded beside him, alerting him that someone had joined him on the bench.

There was another sigh and a light rustling of clothing. Thorin twitched, but still did not look. This would be on his terms, and his entirely.

“You know, you’re going to look awfully silly yelling at no one,” came a very familiar voice. “So I’ll thank you to be civil.” 

Thorin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and finally turned to look, needing to make sure this was real. 

Bilbo sat beside him on the bench, wearing that same burgundy coat and trousers, his golden curls tousled by the wind. He looked just like any other person of flesh and blood. Thorin swallowed with some difficulty.

“You aren’t no one,” he said. “Just because you’re a—not, you’re not no one.”

Bilbo huffed a laugh. “No,” he agreed softly. “No, I—well.” He gave a self-depreciating smile. “I might as well be like this. But thank you. And please, no yelling all the same.”

 

Thorin frowned and looked down at his hands. He stole another glance at his companion, noting that he still didn’t appear outwardly ghost-like in any obvious way. “Other people can’t see you?” he asked tentatively.

“Some can,” Bilbo allowed, shifting on the bench. “Once I’ve shown myself to a person they tend to see me afterwards. When I’m like _this_. If I don’t take a form at all, then that’s a different matter. ”

Thorin’s hands were clenched tightly in the material of his trousers. 

“I…” Bilbo sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, his legs shifting nervously. “There was, ah, something you wanted to say to me?” 

“Sorry,” Thorin nearly choked out. “I—I’m so sorry. For the way I treated you before. For insulting your pride and belittling you. I had not meant to insult you. I worried—was afraid that something had happened you. I couldn’t stand to think of you needing help and not having anyone to go to.”

Bilbo was silent for a long while, so much so that Thorin began to sneak quick glances at the ghost just to assure himself he was still there. Eventually the smaller man gave a huff.

“…You weren’t _wrong,_ ” Bilbo muttered to himself a touch bitterly. “So...is that all? I mean, is this it?” When Thorin only looked confused Bilbo continued. “We’ve cleared _that_ —” he gave a distracted gesture at himself, “—business up, I get where you’re coming from, it was an, an honorable impulse I suppose, but. You’re, you’re just…a bit late. That’s all. So there’s not really anything you can…do. Really. For me. So there’s not, there isn’t any reason for you to—”

“No.” 

“No?” repeated Bilbo slowly, frowning. 

“No,” agreed Thorin. “I don’t want to help out of some sense of obligation. That has nothing to do with it. It’s not that you’re in trouble—”

“Trouble? I’m a ghost, not some a run-away—“

“Or a ghost, it’s that you’re _you_.” 

Bilbo’s mouth snapped shut with a discerning click. Thorin could feel his ears begin to heat up in but he pushed the embarrassment aside, needing to make this clear. “The man I met that day in the rain," he began, meeting Bilbo’s wide gaze. “He was smart and clever and kind and I, I actually enjoyed talking with him. Being with him. That, that doesn’t, I’m not—” he growled in frustration at his inability to find the right words. “It’s not—it’s _you_. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you, Bilbo Baggins. Not because I felt obligated. Because you’re, you are…you, and I like…you.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “You do know I’m a ghost, right? You can’t, you _can’t_ help me, you shouldn’t even want to, I’m not even really human anymore—“

“—I don’t care.” 

Bilbo’s mouth snapped shut. He stared at Thorin. 

“No! I do care that you’re—“ Thorin made a vague gesture in the air, “—but it doesn’t change how I…enjoy being… around you.” 

The ghost made a half strangled sound before huffing a laugh, finally relaxing into a slouch. He looked up at Thorin shyly, biting his lip. “You know, I had very much wanted to be angry with you,” he confessed quietly, fingers worrying the cuff of his sleeve. “But now you’ve gone and made _me_ feel bad. I don’t appreciate this, you know. I could have very well left you to your bench all alone. Though it’s really _my_ bench if it’s going to belong to anyone.” He stopped himself, giving his head a quick shake. “Right, back to the point.”

“You—” Bilbo jabbed a finger at Thorin, “—hurt my feelings quite badly, and lead me to believe that the only reason you had been so agreeable was because you thought I needed help and were trying to gain my trust so I’d cooperate. That is an awful thing to feel, especially when one does not just ‘make friends’ as a—well, a ghost I suppose we’re calling it. So, so yes, you made me rather upset and angry and I would prefer to not have a repeat of that, thank you.”

“I am sorry for causing you harm,” Thorin said quietly, shooting a quick look at the other man. His hands were clenched tightly in the fabric of his trousers. He flexed his fingers carefully wincing at how cramped they felt. “A friend helped me realize that I had been incredibly rude and that I should be thankful even for the privilege of groveling for your forgiveness.”

Bilbo let out a small sound. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“If it makes you feel better, then no. It isn’t.” 

Bilbo blinked, taken aback by the sheer honesty he saw in Thorin’s eyes. “You, you’d really…for _me?_ But why would you…you know I’m not, I can’t _give_ you anything. I’m not…really?” he asked in a small voice, looking suddenly much younger. 

Something in Thorin’s heart clenched at the sight and he nodded solemnly. “I would. If it would make you happy.”

“This isn’t…you aren’t a ghost fanatic are you?”

“A what?”

“You’re not going to want me to summon demons or anything are you? Because I’m just going to say right now that I can’t bring you the ghosts of dead loved ones and I’m certainly not going to open any unearthly portals or haunt people on demand. I will _not_ be made a spectacle of if you’re wanting to use me as hard proof that ghost exist!”

“Mahal, no!” cried Thorin, aghast at the thought. “Do people do that?”

Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms, looking down at his knees darkly. “Buckland does have a bit of a reputation, you know. Of the haunted paranormal sort. Some people can be so rude about things.”

“I’m sorry that’s happened to you,” Thorin said lowly. The thought that someone might try to make a spectacle of Bilbo to put on the internet angered him, and he felt that all of Bofur’s earlier hostility was more than justified. “You don’t deserve that. And I’m sorry I’ve hurt you as well,” he continued. “It was never my intention.” 

Bilbo looked at him, his mouth slightly open, a small, confused furrow in his brow. He turned away flustered, clearing his throat abruptly and ran a hand through his curls. “Yes. Yes, well, you’ve rather…ah, you seem to understand the problem. Situation. Ghost…thing. And ah...if you’re not here _because_ I am a, a ghost, but because you, you… _like_ me..?” he trailed off, peeking at Thorin in nervous bewilderment.

Thorin nodded firmly in agreement. 

The ghost stared at him, something almost desperate in his gaze. He cleared his throat again and looked away, a slight blush colouring his pale cheeks. “Friends?” Bilbo asked after a moment, holding his hand out to Thorin.

A smile broke out over Thorin’s face, a relieved, warm thing. “Friends” he agreed, extending his own hand. 

“Oh.” Bilbo blinked, his fingers curling in on themselves in realization. He dropped his hand. “Sorry, I can’t…” he trailed off as Thorin’s hand remained where it was. He shot the man a desperate look, but Thorin only looked back steadily, wiggling his fingers meaningfully. Bilbo blinked at him, something vulnerable flashing across his face before it was replaced with resolve, and he nodded to himself, taking a shaking breath and clasping Thorin’s hand with his own.

If pressed to describe the feeling, Thorin would have said it felt a bit like touching a thick mist, only that it was warm and dry instead of wet. Gentle warmth tingled just slightly on his skin where they touched, like bits of static. It was like holding a candle with bare hands, if the wax was as soft as a cloud and the flame a steady warmth with no fear of burning or flickering out.

As it was, Thorin gasped softly at the feeling of Bilbo’s hand curled around and through his own. He could see those smaller fingers overlapping unnaturally with his own, fading out where they touched skin and reappearing through the other side of it. He stared at their hands reverently, overwhelmed by the trust this being had offered him. A deep feeling of peace and warmth settled over him, and he looked at Bilbo in wonder. Bilbo for his part was watching Thorin quietly, a gentle smile on his face.

“I’m very glad to have you as a friend, Thorin,” Bilbo said softly.

And Thorin looked into those bright hazel eyes and felt himself lost and found all at once, a sense of such rightness fitting into his heart as he gazed at the other man, their hands joined as best they could between them.

“So am I.”

 

xxx

 

The handle of the wooden rake was smooth in his hand, not the kind to leave him with blisters, something Thorin was grateful for. He’d been feeling mostly useless since he got to Buckland, and to have some helpful chore to do was a relief. Fili and Kili were only too happy to have a break from the chore themselves. Living in the middle of a wood did make the novelty of leaves wear off quickly when they fell almost as quickly as they could rake them up and stuff them in bags.

When Dís had poked her head out the door to make sure he hadn’t been coerced into it, Thorin had told her he had missed the leaves in Ered Luin and the work was welcome. She scowled and told him to stop at the property line and not do the whole forest like the masochist he was. 

Thorin had made no promises.

 

There was something soothing about it, dragging the rake across the grass again and again, herding the fallen leaves that lay thick on the ground into large piles to be bagged or jumped in by mischievous nephews.

 

Lines of colourful, misshapen bags already stood watch by the porch and down the driveway, pumpkins, witches, skeletons, ghosts, and one very large spider bag with six stuffed legs spreading out from the middle.

A gust of wind blew by, sweeping up most of the pile he had been working on and whirling it away, scattering leaves across the yard. Thorin huffed, and started gathering the pile back up again. It had been calm when he had first come out, but soon the wind had picked up and this was now the third time in half an hour it had forced him to start over.

 

“Awfully windy today, isn’t it?” 

He started, whirling about and freezing when he found the source of the voice. Bilbo sat on the steps of the front porch, watching him casually as if there was nothing out of the ordinary of his being there.

 

Bilbo was _here_. 

Bilbo was at his _house_. 

Dís’ house really. But he was here! Talking to Thorin! Who desperately needed to stop gawking and say something.

“It is,” he agreed, fingers curling awkwardly around his rake. “Windy. Today. Raking has been quite difficult with the… _you!_ ” Thorin realized with a start the source of the suspiciously troublesome weather was the small, curly-haired ghost grinning cheerfully up at him. Bilbo waved a hand.

“Hullo!”

“You were blowing the leaves around!”

“Me? Oh no no, heavens no, that sounds an awful lot like wind. That’s what it does, you know?” Bilbo gave a knowing nod. “Blow things around.” A cluster of leaves fluttered upwards from the pile and flew right at Thorin, swatting against his clothing wetly. “There it goes again,” remarked Bilbo with a low whistle. “Goodness me.”

Thorin huffed and scowled, fighting the smile pulling at his lips. “I don’t think the wind likes me very much.”

“Nonsense. I’d say it’s being very friendly.”

“Indeed? You think it would be more cooperative in that case.”

Bilbo hummed and cocked his head. “Maybe it just likes seeing you bend over?” he suggested innocently.

Thorin spluttered, turning a bright red. This man would be the death of him! And maybe there was some irony to that but Thorin honestly felt he wouldn’t mind so very much if he could keep hearing that bright laughter. Even if it was at his expense.

“You are a menace,” Thorin managed once he’d gotten himself back under control. Bilbo grinned brightly at him, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“I am a ghost. I suppose it comes with the territory. Not that I know what you’re talking about of course.”

“Of course.”

Thorin began raking again, sneaking in glances at his companion. His _friend_. Bilbo did say they were friends after all. And from his teasing maybe they could be something more than that. Thorin was simply thankful Bilbo had given him another chance at all.

“You are at my sister’s place,” Thorin said after a while, glancing up at Bilbo.

“Most perceptive. I can see why they made you a detective.”

“I only wondered why you were here. Have you been following me, Mister Baggins?” Thorin was treated to the sight of the man spluttering, caught off guard. 

“Following?! Why, I never!” denied Bilbo in mock horror. A deep blush spread across his features, pleasing Thorin more much than he cared to admit. “I have a duty to see to, thank you. I make it my business to know what’s going on around here. And _you_ , Mr. Broody Detective, of all people, don’t have a single leg to stand on. Really, you were all-out _stalking_ me. Driving around for days, asking around, snooping through the library.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head. “Shameful really.”

Thorin cleared his throat, fighting his own blush. “So you were following me.”

“Hush you, that’s not the point!”

“Does this mean we’re even, then?”

“Oh fine, I suppose we are.” Bilbo got up dusted off his trousers, making his way over to join Thorin in the yard. A gust of wind swooped by, catching up a large swath of leaves up and depositing them all neatly in a pile. “See,” he said. “It’s very friendly.” 

Thorin smiled, ducking his head.

“I’ve always loved leaves,” said Bilbo after a while. Thorin had pulled out a new bag and was stuffing it full, holding it open with one hand and grabbing handfuls of leaves with the other. “I used to play in every pile I came across, much to the distress of my neighbors.”

The image of a small Bilbo playing in the leaves was ridiculously charming. “I see you haven’t changed much,” remarked Thorin with a grin. A big, wide leaf flew out of nowhere and smacked him wetly in the face. 

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure,” said Bilbo snootily, raising an eyebrow. Thorin swatted the leaf away, chuckling. He finished filling the bag, a plump cartoonish skeleton now ready to be placed next to the others.

 

“…Ah, by the way. I wanted to ask you something.” 

Thorin looked up at the hesitant tone, frowning to see Bilbo suddenly uncomfortable. “Of course.”

“It’s more of a…look, please promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Stay away from the woods at night. You and your family. Don’t be caught out here in the dark and the fog-and especially not alone! That little flashlight of yours is not enough to protect you.”

“Are we in danger?” asked Thorin bluntly. He felt as if an ice cube had just been dropped down the back of his shirt, an echo of that freezing fear he had felt that night in the woods.

“Y-yes. Yes, I wish I could say otherwise, but yes.” Bilbo fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve anxiously, his brows drawn together. “And it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Only for a few more weeks, and then it’s much safer! Just do _not_ go looking for it again. Stay away from the Old Forest and please, keep a very close eye on your nephews. Lock your doors—the windows too, and if at all possible don’t spend Halloween in the house. Buckland always has a big event for everyone—it’s much safer in numbers where the lights are brighter. I-I can only do so much, and this year is going to be worse than usual...”

“Bilbo,” began Thorin, his insides freezing up. “What happens here. What’s out there in the dark?”

The ghost gave a wan smile. “You’ve already met. Briefly, albeit. Twice now.”

That _thing_ in the woods. That horrible choking presence (the reaper?) that everyone was afraid of, that Bofur had said Bilbo was connected to somehow.

“You saved me,” breathed Thorin, looking at Bilbo in reverence. “Out in the woods. Both times.” For now that he thought about it, that strange golden orb had made him feel the same warmth and wonder he had felt clasping hands with Bilbo. It must have been him. Another form perhaps, but Bilbo all the same.

“Three times now if we’re counting,” added the ghost with a small smile. “But I’ll thank you very much if you try to stay out of trouble. I might not always be fast enough to get there in time.”

Thorin blinked. “That was you on the mountain pass. You stopped my car from going over the edge.” Bilbo shrugged, looking down at his feet.

“I’d been waiting around in case anyone came by.”

“Bilbo, thank you.”

“Oh, no it’s-really the least I can do.” A pinched look had taken to Bilbo’s features. He shuffled uncomfortably, not meeting Thorin’s eye.

“Something bad is going to happen,” said Thorin, watching Bilbo closely.

“Yes,” agreed the smaller man, biting his lip. “But I promise to protect you as best I can. Your family too. Just please try to stay out of the woods at night, and stay away from the fog. It doesn’t-it doesn’t like light very much, but it has to be a lot. Flashlights won’t do much. Even then it only slows it down.”

“I want to help.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Bilbo groused, shaking his head. “You’ve seen how dangerous it is. I’m not about to put you in any more danger than what you’re already in. And trust me it’s a fair bit.”

“Bilbo, I’m a detective. I’ve worked on dangerous cases before, I can handle it.”

“Funny, seems I recall you nearly dying multiple times.”

“But you know what that thing is, you know it’s weaknesses—“

“Look, the last thing I need is to have you throwing yourself into more danger—I’m doing everything I can to protect everyone else! I can’t be constantly saving you, what about everyone else who’s in danger? I’m stretched thin enough as it is!”

“So let me help you!”

“Absolutely not!”

“Bilbo, a few days ago I heard some people talking about this house,” started Thorin, his fists clenching at his sides in remembrance. “They said something horrible had happened here, to the children who used to live here.” Bilbo bit his lip, his features taking on a pained expression. “What about my family, Bilbo?” asked Thorin, desperate. “Fili and Kili? Do you think I can rest easy knowing they’re in danger and I’ve done nothing to stop it? My nephews?”

Bilbo sucked in a pained breath, his shoulders hunching and he turned his head away. His slight form trembled, his arms hugging his stomach.

Oh.

Thorin remembered suddenly what Dwalin had found on Bilbo Baggins’ file. Four children had gone missing right before Bilbo himself did. That was what had set Bilbo off, caused him to disappear and the children to be found. 

One of them had been his nephew.

Oh _fuck_.

“Bilbo, I’m sorry,” he said hastily, noting with alarm that Bilbo was holding himself very tensely and had kept his face down and turned away. “I didn’t mean to—“

“No.” 

Bilbo looked up. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, his face suddenly so much older. He looked exhausted. “No, you’re right. It’s your family. Of course you’d want to protect them.” He sighed, a heavy defeated thing, though when he meet Thorin’s eyes his gaze was steady. “All right. But be aware I might not always be able to protect you.”

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

The smaller man quirked a smile. “Are you free tomorrow, Mr. Oakenshield?”

“I—sorry?” asked Thorin, caught off guard. Bilbo smiled tiredly.

“Unfortunately not as a date. Do you know where Shirriff Maggot lives?”

“Y-yes, out in, ah, in the Marish, wasn’t it?” Thorin’s heart lurched hopefully in his chest. _Unfortunately!?_ He fought it down, trying to stay focused.

“That’s right. Can you meet me there around ten tomorrow morning? It'll be wet and marshy out there, so dress warmly. Bring a snack too, and some water. And do bring a flashlight. It’s not much, but I’d rather you have one then not.”

“Of course,” Thorin nodded, heart racing. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“Good.”

“Though,” Thorin stuttered, his palms beginning to sweat. “I know we’re not there for fun, but that, ah, sounds like a, a date to me.”

Bilbo stared at him for a moment before breaking out into a bright grin, his dimples showing and his nose crinkling up charmingly. 

“A date it is then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this fic :3
> 
> Next chapter is where the plot really starts picking up!


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin pay a visit to Shirriff Maggot out in the Marish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barely edited chapter, beware of typos!
> 
> Also, I have decided that Shirriff Maggot is now a woman, because why not. I'll go back and change that when I'm less dead.

The damn GPS was broken. 

Of course it was. It would break down when he was on his first date in Mahal knew how long. Not that it was a real date, but it was enough of a one for Thorin. Even if it was a business first sort of date.

It hadn’t stopped him from spending far too long deliberating over what to wear in any case. Not that he would ever admit to it.

Thorin grumbled to himself, clumsily re-typing the address to the Marish Outpost with one hand while he drove. The Marish, or so it was called in the Shire, was a region just west of the Brandywine almost entirely made up of wetlands. This was apparently where Shirriff Maggot could be found. In the middle of a bloody marsh. Typical.

The GPS loaded slowly, the roads on the screen blinking into existence only to glitch out again a few moments later. Slowing down, Thorin typed it in again, scowling. It had been working fine when he had left the house. Of course it would abandon him when he was far out from any city or town.

Thorin had taken the winding road north through the woods and over the old wooden bridge spanning the Brandywine River. There had been a heavy sense of relief when he had made it to the other side, crossing safely over the churning, murky depths of the river below and out of Buckland. The world seemed lighter somehow in the Shire proper, more cheerful and bright, Buckland nothing more than a shrinking blot of trees on the far side of the river. 

It was nearly enough to forget about that lurking _thing_ in the dark with the sun shining so brightly on the fields, wildflowers flashing by in bright bursts of colour as he drove. It all seemed like some strange dream in the light of the day, nothing more than a half remembered nightmare. Enough so that he could fool himself into thinking he truly was going on nothing more than an innocent date with a gorgeous man out in the country.

That good, carefree feeling had lasted him all of an hour before plummeting as he reached the Marish. 

The bright rolling hills and farm fields had transformed into a straggly wetland. Tall stalky plants grew up and out of the wet, long stretches of marsh leaving only thin strips of trees dotted among the landscape. The road was a sloping, winding thing, a line of greenery on each side separating it from the water and muck of the sprawling marsh itself. Despite the sun being bright earlier, it was swallowed up entirely here, the sky a thick, heavy overcast, patches of mist hanging low over the surface of the water. Clusters of dark birds fluttered around the surface of the water, their cries echoing through the damp chill of the air. He was left feeling uneasy and on guard for reasons he couldn’t explain, the feeling only worsening the further he drove, barely any sign of a building anywhere.

And Shirriff Maggot was right in the middle of it.

Not that his GPS would know it was there.

Grumbling he slowed his car, carefully pulling over to the side of the road as much as he dared in the marshy terrain. He typed in the address in again, cursing as the GPS map went blank. The loading symbol appearing again, taking much longer than it should to produce anything useful. The Outpost place blinked into existence, a dot of colour on the white screen. 

Nothing else loaded. 

Thorin cursed and plucked the GPS from where it was mounted on the dashboard. He flicked it off and back on again, drumming his fingers impatiently against it while he waited. Damn useless GPS.

 

_Tap tap tap_

 

Thorin started at the sound next to his ear and turned. He was met with the face of an old man, leering at him from the car window.

His heart stuttering painfully in his chest, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight. He noted with alarm that his window was partially rolled down, and despite his years of combat training he couldn’t stop the irrational fear at the thought of there being no barrier between him and the other.

“Yer goin’ out to the marsh.” 

It wasn’t a question. The old man’s eyes were wide, his face gaunt and sickly, his hair unkempt and wild. Thorin swallowed, forcing himself to calm.

“Y-Yes. This is the marish.”

“They’s gone out there.” When he spoke Thorin’s eyes were drawn to his mouth, to the gaps where teeth had been. He swallowed heavily and forced himself to relax.

“Can I help you?” He managed, trying to regain control over the situation.

“Gone. All of them gone. They ain’t ever commin’ back.”

“Ah…who, who’s gone?”

 

A low whistle pierced through the air. 

The old man shrank back at the sound. With one last look at Thorin he stepped away from the car and scurried back down the side of the road the way he had come.

Thorin let out a long breath, disturbed despite himself by the interaction. It was just an old man that had caught him off guard.

But what had he been talking about?

 

“Are you alright?”

For the second time that day, Thorin barely managed to keep from jumping out of his skin, his heart thudding painfully in alarm.

“Sorry. I got you, didn’t I?” 

Thorin held up a hand and caught his breath, shaking his head.

“—surprised,” he managed, glancing up. “Hello.”

“Hullo,” offered Bilbo, smiling crookedly. He was sitting in the passenger seat of Thorin’s car, watching him carefully. Thorin’s heart gave a small tug at the sight of him there so naturally. “I am sorry about Gorbadock.”

Thorin blinked, getting himself back together. “Who?” 

Bilbo glanced back at the road. 

The old man. Right.

“Ah,” said Thorin. “It’s alright.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm,” said Bilbo quietly. “It’s not his fault that—” the ghost cut himself off, biting his lip. “He’s harmless, really. I’m sorry if he scared you.”

From the grim set of Bilbo’s mouth Thorin could tell there was a story there. Perhaps one better left to another time.

“It’s fine,” he said gently. Bilbo still seemed tense, his eyes dark and slightly unfocused as he gazed out into the marsh. “I’m late, aren’t I?”

Bilbo blinked, breaking out of whatever mood had taken him. “Oh no, not yet. But the Marish can be tricky, and I didn’t exactly give you directions. I didn’t want you to get turned around out here.”

“So you came yourself.”

“I did.”

A warm feeling spread through Thorin’s chest. “I’m glad that you did.”

“Oh.” Bilbo smiled at Thorin shyly, a pleased blush blooming across his features. “Well, good.”

Thorin started up the car again, a warm fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach at having Bilbo in the car with him. Ghost or no. He realized he was still holding the GPS and put it awkwardly on the dashboard, not bothering to turn it on.

There was no need for the damn thing anyway. Not with Bilbo beside him, peering out the window as the reeds whipped by and murmuring directions as they drove deeper and deeper into the marsh. 

 

Xxx

 

The Outpost was an intimidating structure made of stone and wood, a lone sentinel rising out of the gloom of the marsh. It was surrounded all around by water and wetlands, built on a large patch of land with one long road leading up to it. This was how they had come upon it, the building appearing suddenly as they had crested a slow turn, looming in the distance as it emerged from behind a clump of dark trees.

Thorin stepped out of the car, eyeing the ten-foot stone wall that surrounded it with some apprehension. A great iron-wrought gate loomed over them, suitably intimidating even from where they had parked a good distance away. 

He recalled the overheard conversation about Shirrif Maggot. Being here now, with the damp chill sinking into his skin, the marsh stretching out endlessly on all sides, the sky pressing down oppressively, he thought he could understand the appeal of having a huge wall around his place if he was to live out here himself.

“There used to be a town out here,” Bilbo remarked as they walked, his voice nearly blending in with the wind in the rushes and the croaking of frogs from the water. “The Marish used to be full of the best mushroom farms in the Shire, even better than those in Buckland. But over time the marsh kept expanding and the ground became too saturated and unstable to build on. Some folks began to leave and go further inland until there were only a few left, making what living they could off of the land. I doubt there will ever be a town here again.”

Looking out over the bleak stretches of wetland, Thorin wondered how long ago that had been. Had Bilbo himself watched it happen over the span of years? Had he once known the town, known the mushroom farms that he had spoke of with a note of fondness in his voice, before they were swallowed up by the muck and wet? Perhaps this was older than Bilbo.

“It’s something of an unofficial conservation area today,” continued Bilbo, correctly reading Thorin’s silence as thoughtful instead of disinterest. “At least that’s what they’ve decided to call it. Trails run all over, miles of boardwalk over the marsh. People used to go fishing or would bring boats out just for fun, but…it isn’t safe anymore. The boardwalks are only open for the spring and summer, and even then they’re carefully maintained.”

That would explain the outpost. 

They stopped in front of the gate.

“What does Shirriff Maggot do?” asked Thorin, wanting to know more about the Shirriff before meeting her.

“Do? Well, the Shirriffs are what we in the Shire have as police. There are twelve of them stationed in all different regions of the Shire of course. Except Buckland, as traditionally it was under the guidance of the Master of Buckland and whatever Shirriffs and Bounders appointed in Buckland were their own jurisdiction. Bounders are under Shirriffs, something like the common officers to your chief of police I believe. But I’m rambling,” Bilbo waved a hand distractedly. “What is Shirriff Maggot doing in an outpost in the middle of a marsh, yes?”

Thorin nodded.

“Keeping watch. The boardwalk may be closed for the season but people will still come here. Despite the warnings. Often because of them. This is a rural area as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he said wryly. “There’s not much for youth to do out here aside from drinking and trespassing into places they’ve no business being. Shirriff Maggot is also one of the only people outside of Buckland with an understanding of the things that go on there,” he added quietly. “Many are happier turning a blind eye to things they can’t comprehend rather than acknowledge them. The Shirriff is not one of those people.”

Bilbo inclined his head meaningfully at the intercom next to the gate, looking at Thorin expectantly. Clearing his throat, Thorin stepped forward and pushed the call button. He glanced up at the security cameras overhead, noting the huge spotlights mounted high up on the walls, turned off for now. 

“Marish Outlook, state your business,” came a static voice over the intercom.

“Ah.” 

It was then that Thorin realized he didn’t know why they had come or what they meant to accomplish. He had only come along because Bilbo had told him to. And Bilbo (despite being very good company) was a ghost. Well fuck. 

“…I’m here to see Shirriff Maggot.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“N-No, but I am with the—“

“We would ask that you kindly contact the Bounder Station of your jurisdiction with any questions or concerns you may have, or if you have an emergency to report please call—“

“I don’t think that will be necessary, do you?” Bilbo interrupted, cutting the voice off.

“Sir, this is not a walk-in facility. The Outlook is a…” the voice trialed off. 

Bilbo crossed his arms and looked up at the security camera, an eyebrow raised in challenge. Thorin watched in confusion as the camera re-adjusted, trying to focus in on Bilbo. There was a muffled curse and rustling sound from the intercom.

“Shirriff Maggot will see you shortly.”

The gates opened slowly, swinging inward with the dull creak of rusted metal. Bilbo nodded in satisfaction and walked through them, shooting Thorin a look when he continued to stare after the smaller man dumbly.

“Coming?”

“Er, what?” managed Thorin eloquently, catching up with the ghost.

“We’re inside.”

“But—how did—“

“They opened the gates and we walked in.”

“Yes but—“

“Come on, we don’t want to keep her waiting.”

 

xxx

 

Thorin found himself ushered into the surprisingly spacious mansion by a nervous looking bounder and brought to a small office upstairs where he sat now, on a comfortable chair in front of Shirriff Maggot’s desk. Bilbo had sat on the chair beside him, the ghost’s presence comforting to Thorin even if he was invisible to the Shirrif. 

Maggot was a stout greying woman with a piercing gaze that had his posture straightening the moment he’d walked into her office. She sat at her desk in an almost slouch, regarding him over her work with a kind of lazy intensity. 

He cleared his throat, meeting her gaze steadily. After a moment she grunted, nodding, and looked away. 

“Figured it was about time I heard from you again.” 

Thorin blinked, taken aback.

“Yes, well, you know how things are,” answered Bilbo calmly.

Oh.

_Oh._

She could see Bilbo.

“Thorin, this is Shirrif Maggot,” offered Bilbo, giving Thorin a small smile. “Iris, this is Thorin Oakenshield, a detective of Ered Luin.”

She regarded him shrewdly, with the eyes of someone long accustomed to summing a person up with a single glance. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. And Bilbo, always a pleasure. Though I doubt you’re here on a casual visit.” There was warmth in her eyes when she looked at Bilbo, and Thorin was struck with the fact that they may even be friends

“I’m afraid not,” replied Bilbo, the corner of his mouth twitching up briefly.

“Typical. Well, best get on with it then.”

 

Xxx

 

He supposed he shouldn’t have been so very surprised. 

Bilbo had told him some people could see him. Once he’d shown himself that was. The ghost only seemed to do so in the direst of circumstances. The thought was unnerving, and raised the question of what had happened to cause Bilbo to reveal himself to Shirriff Maggot? Had she too had a run in with the reaper?

There was a small jealous part of him that bristled at the thought of sharing Bilbo— this mysterious, clever, kindly man—with others. That someone might have a stronger or more important relationship with the Bilbo then he did himself. But that was quickly drowned out. 

While there was little he knew of Bilbo’s past and of what had caused him to be as he was now, Thorin knew it must have been something terrible that had befallen him. And as far as he was concerned, Bilbo deserved all the support and affection a person could have. Surely any friend he managed to make was a blessing, and Thorin would do his utmost to support and respect them if they brought comfort to Bilbo. 

Besides, Maggot wasn't on a _date_ with Bilbo. 

And Bofur and his brother and cousin were more like family to Bilbo than anything and not really interested in him that way. 

So there.

“Sure you want to involve a foreign detective in out problems?” asked Maggot, jerking her head in his direction. Thorin frowned and resisted the urge to grumble. “It could cause more trouble for everyone in the long run.”

“I am, yes,” answered Bilbo calmly. “There's no choice really. It’s Thorin’s family that lives at Crickhollow House.”

“Ah.” She let out a sigh and nodded after a moment. “Fair enough. How bad is it this year?”

Bilbo bit his lip. “Bad.” 

She raised an eyebrow.

“It will fall on a full moon for the first time in a hundred years,” explained Bilbo, hunching foreword in his chair. “The barrier is weaker than ever, this is exactly what it needs to try and bring itself over fully.”

Maggot ran a hand through her short hair, leaning back in her seat with a sigh. “Well fuck. And now there's a family living right next door.”

“What will you do?” Asked Thorin, watching the Shirriff closely. This was his family they were talking about, Dís and her husband, Fili and Kili. He was not leaving until he had something solid to go on, until there was enough to scrape together a plan, something to keep them safe. 

“For one, I’m going to ask you to make sure your family is out of the house on the 31st,” she said, jabbing her pen in his direction. “Brandybuck Hall always holds a huge Halloween party and sleepover for the kids. I recommend attending. You can imagine trick-or-treating in the dark hasn't ended well in the past.” Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maggot’s gaze softened on the ghost before she turned back to Thorin. “And then I’m going to ask your boyfriend here what his plan is. I know he has one.”

Thorin’s heart gave a loud thump when he realized she had just implied Bilbo was his boyfriend. He snatched a quick glance at Bilbo to see if he would correct her. 

Bilbo did not. The ghost met his gaze with a quick smile, his eyes warm when they met. 

And he did not correct her.

“I think,” Bilbo began quietly, “There may be a way to bring this to our advantage.” He paused and took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. “If, and only if, we can get enough people to help, who understand what's at stake and what's going on, I, I think we could banish it properly. But it would be dangerous,” he continued urgently, face grave. “So dangerous I-I don't know if it's worth the risk.”

“If it means getting rid of that thing, I’m all for it,” said Maggot firmly. “Most folks around these parts would agree. You could even ask them yourself, seeing how many you’ve made acquaintances of over the years.”

“We’d have to go into the downs,” added Bilbo, shooting her a look. 

The Shirriff shrugged. “I expected as much.”

Thorin cleared his throat, interrupting the tense face-off between the two. “I am more than willing to help in any way I can.”

“It's dangerous Thorin—” Bilbo started, his eyes pained.

“That's why I want to help. I would rather face it head on myself then hide and hope that others risk their lives instead.”

Maggot snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Noble one, isn’t he?”

Thorin frowned, taking offense at her amusement. He had only spoken honestly. He glared mulishly at the Shirriff across the desk. 

“He is, yes.” Bilbo’s voice brought him from his darkening thoughts. He looked over at the ghost, seeing only fondness and quiet pride in his gaze. That had him sitting straighter in his chair. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“No.”

Bilbo sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Alright,” he conceded tiredly. “For now, Iris I’ll need you to get some of your people ready. The ones you can trust to take this seriously. I’ll handle Saradoc, but your influence will be a great help.”

“You’ll have it.”

“Good.”

A beeping noise cut through the air. Maggot excused herself and got up to answer her phone, leaving the two alone at the desk. Thorin sneaked a glance over at his companion.

Bilbo sat silently, head down, staring duly at the carpet. His shoulders were tense, his back bowed, as if he carried a great weight on his narrow shoulders. It made him look even smaller than usual. 

Thorin carefully rested his hand over the arm of Bilbo’s chair.

“What can I do?” he asked quietly, desperate to ease that heavy burden weighing on the small man.

“I’d be much happier if you focused on keeping your family safe,” said Bilbo, gaze still down turned. 

“I will,” Thorin promised. “And I can do that by helping you as well.”

Bilbo huffed tiredly and raised his head, his eyes soft. “I should fight you on this, I really should. I don’t think I could bare it if you were hurt on my behalf. But…” he sighed and ran a hand through his curls. “There are a few things I could use some help with. Not everyone responds particularly well to, ah…me. But it would mean you’d have to _talk_ to people.”

Thorin raised an imperious eyebrow. “I will have you know I talk to many people in my line of work.”

Bilbo hummed, a smile playing around his mouth. “Buckland is a rural region, Thorin. Shire folk in general tend to be nosy busybodies always looking for a bit of gossip. I’m afraid you’ll rather look the foreigner, mountain man.”

Thorin’s heart gave a flip at the playful name. He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Bilbo’s eyes dragged appreciatively over his form. “Not at all.”

He coughed, a blush spreading across his face, pride and embarrassment both warring within him at such open praise. “Have I mentioned that my cousin is officer Gloin Inson?”

“The Gloin Inson from the West Farthing Bounders?” asked Maggot, stepping back into the room. “Newly transferred?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Oh good.” She flopped back into her chair. “See if you can't get him to cooperate. Or at try to get him down here for the next week or so. The more we can sway the rest of the Shire bounders to our plight the better. Most are happier pretending nothing’s wrong at all, but in the Marish we know better.”

Of that Thorin had no doubt. The drive here alone had been enough to give him the creeps.

“I believe my sister has already invited Gloin and his family over for a few days.”

“Perfect.”

“Aren't you just full of surprises,” murmured Bilbo, leaning towards him. The praise went right to Thorin’s head, and he shifted in his seat, heart glowing.

“Oakenshield,” began Maggot, pulling him back into the office. She fixed him with a stern look. “I hope you understand that I don't want your involvement in any of this to be common knowledge. It wouldn't do to start any kind of incident, even if you are off duty and out of your country.”

“Understood.”

“It would be an awful lot of paperwork having a foreign detective getting wrapped up in our local affairs. That’s the last thing we want to deal with on top of everything else.”

Thorin nodded.

“Good, then I would appreciate it if you don’t flash your badge around unnecessarily or…” Maggot trailed off, her expression instantly sharpening on something just past Thorin’s shoulder.

He turned.

It was Bilbo she was looking at, he realized with a start.

The ghost had gone ridged, his whole body suddenly tensing up, his breaths panicked and shallow, face deadly pale. 

Thorin’s heart lurched at the sight and he turned fully in his seat towards the other man, half rising.

“Bilbo? What’s wrong?”

Bilbo started to faze in and out, the chair and the wall behind him faintly visible. His eyes were glowing, his skin starting turning gold around the edges like static. It was most ghost like he had ever seen Bilbo. It jarred him deeply.

“What are you seeing?” asked Maggot, watching the small ghost closely.

“The marshes,” Bilbo managed, voice tense. “Boardwalk trail, there’s-a group of them, kids, out—help, it’s seen them!”

“Bilbo, _where?_ ”

Thorin felt himself jerk forward involuntarily as Bilbo vanished, gone in a sudden burst of light. He stared at the chair that had just been occupied by the small ghost numbly, uncomprehending.

“ _Fuck._ ” 

Maggot cursing brought Thorin out of his stupor. He got to his feet as she slammed down a button on her desk.

“Code Black, I repeat, Code Black. I need as many units out in the marsh as can be spared asap. There’s a group of kids out there in danger, I repeat, Code Black.”

She darted for the door, calling back at Thorin, “You coming or what?”

Thorin didn’t need to be told twice. He raced after her.

 

Xxx

Stepping outside was a blast of damp, chilly air, the wind blowing through the rushes wildly and tossing his hair about. The sky was nearly white, the fog having crept in while they were inside, great plumes of mist rising up off of the surface of the water and hanging lowly, obscuring everything more than a few feet above ground.  
The marshes stretched bleakly out before them, a vast unknown.

And somewhere out there was the reaper, prey in sight.

“Come on,” called Maggot, running out to her jeep. “We can drive over to the boardwalk but we’ll have to go on foot from there. It’s not stable enough to support anything else.”

Thorin made out figures moving through the encroaching mist, the sound of engines resounding through the stillness of the marsh. Small motorboats were being dispatched, disappearing into marsh, large spotlights glaring to try and cut through the thickness of the air.

They climbed into the jeep, Maggot starting the engine and rolling off down the road, the Outpost shrinking behind them. 

A dark feeling of dread settled over Thorin’s heart as they drove along the bumpy road, the wheels sloshing through muck and grime built up on the gravel. He felt vaguely sick, anticipation and dread coiling in his stomach as they drove, fearing what would await them at the end. 

What they would find.

 

“Trail One is clear, over,” came a voice over Maggot’s two-way, “Checking trails Two to Six, over.”

They drove for a tense few minutes before they reached the boardwalk. It stretched out before them, long planks of wood on the surface of the water. Maggot stopped the jeep and jumped out, Thorin right behind her. 

She handed him a huge flashlight. “Here, keep an eye out with that.” He flicked it on. It didn’t do much against the low hanging mist. It did make him feel less helpless however, having something to do with his hands. He eagerly aimed it out into the marsh, cautiously scanning the rushes and every clump of floating vegetation as they passed, eyes peeled for signs of anything unusual. Anything dangerous.

Little good it may do against that _thing_ out in the fog.

The wood of the boardwalk was damp from under their boots, their footsteps muffled as they ran. Dark, skeletal trees loomed in the distance, clumping together around the patches of land that scattered across the marsh. Long grasses and rushes waved in the wind, dead leaves floating across the surface of the murky water. It was eerily quiet save for the noise of their running and the distance engines of the boats, no sounds of insects, no cars in the distance. Just the wind rustling through the grasses and leaves, the cries of a flock of birds overheard. Thorin’s breath puffed out in a cloud before him as he ran, quickly dissipating into the cold and damp. 

“Trail Four clear, over.”

“Trail Five clear, over.”

“Copy that. That leaves Two, Three and Six,” said Maggot, slowing as they came to a crossroads. “We’ll take Two.”

The damp had started to sink into Thorin’s skin, creeping through his jacket and leaving him chilled as he sucked in each breath of air. A sickly sweet scent was rising over the marsh like mildew and decay, something more sinister underlying it. It stuck in his chest as he breathed, filling his mouth with the taste of rot. He kept running. 

A flock of birds took off in the distance, their cries loud and harsh, echoing off the surface of the water, their dark forms barely visible through the veil of mist

“Trail Three, they’re on trail Three by the gazebo,” came Bilbo’s voice suddenly from Maggot’s radio. “Please, they need help, hurry!”

Maggot swore. 

Without slowing from her run, she snagged Thorin’s arm and pulled him around mid-step, back the way they had came. He fell in beside her gamely, the adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins drowning out any tiredness he had started to feel.

“All units to trail Three, I repeat trail Three,” she ordered. “I need medical units over there asap!”

Mahal only knew what they would find.

Xxx

Thorin could hear the sounds long before he made out the cluster of people in the distance. There was the gazebo, just like Bilbo had said, a group of bounders and medical personal already hard at work.

“What happened?” demanded Maggot as they approached, her face grim. 

“There’s been an attack.”

Thorin could see three teenagers in the middle of the cluster. They were sitting on the ground, deathly pale even from a distance. One of them was soaking wet. All were draped in thick blankets, clearly in shock.

“Shirriff, we need an ambulance,” called a voice. “This one’s in critical condition.”

“Get a helicopter over here on the double!” she snapped. 

That's when Thorin saw it. 

Another form lay on the ground, still and limp, surrounded by a team of paramedics. His breath caught in his throat, hands curling into tight fists at his side.

What had happened?

A glimpse of golden curls off to his left caught his attention.

Bilbo. 

Standing off by himself, the ghost faced away from the cluster of activity, looking out over the marsh. His arms were wrapped tightly around his middle, fingers clenched in the fabric of his coat. Everything about him screamed tension and guilt. 

Thorin approached slowly, not wanting to startle the other man, coming up to stand beside him in front of the railing. 

“I wasn't fast enough.”

Thorin almost didn't hear him. His voice was barely more than a wisp on the wind.

“You did all that you could.”

Thorin knew what it was like to fail a client. He took pride in his work, and when he was unable to help his client he felt useless. The few times there had been a death were devastating. Such failures left him in a black mood for days afterward. Sometimes they still haunted him.

What must Bilbo have been feeling, he could not even fathom. Who knew how long he had been like this, faced again and again with his own demons, literal as they were. How many had he been unable to save?

“It wasn't enough.” 

Thorin glanced at Bilbo’s face. His gaze was dark, anger and disgust in his eyes. 

“I’m not enough.”

A growl caught in Thorin’s throat. Never had he wanted so badly to reach out and touch Bilbo than he had then. But of course, he could not. Such physical comforts that were more natural to him could not be used here. He would have to rely on his words, something that had failed him again and again in personal matters. He’d have to hope it was enough. For Bilbo’s sake. He deserved only the best.

“Bilbo, _no_ ,” he started lowly. “If it weren’t for you we wouldn’t have known anything was wrong. How long do you think it would take before anyone noticed those kids were missing? You’ve saved them, Bilbo. You’ve been saving everyone for a long time, haven’t you? Even when it hurts you. This is not your fault.”

Bilbo’s hands clenched into helpless fists, his shoulders shaking. “It should have never happened at all. I should have been faster, more clever, better prepared. I should have destroyed that fucking wraith when I had the chance!” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “No. This is all my fault, Thorin.”

“It isn’t.”

“Oh, you say that now,” Bilbo said, voice choked. “But you, you don't know. You don't know what I’ve done. What I’ve caused, I—“ the breath suddenly seeped out of the man, leaving him small and tired, the fire in his eyes gone. 

“I..I’m sorry,” he said quietly, hunching in on himself. Thorin’s heart twisted at the sight, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, anything to take that defeated expression from his face. “I didn't want-“ Bilbo let out a frustrated breath and buried his hands in his curls, pulling at them harshly. “I’m so sorry you’re involved in all this. I wish you didn't have to be. But I, I can’t help but be thankful you are. I’m afraid I’m quite selfish, really,” he laughed bitterly, finally looking at Thorin. “You deserve better than this. I, I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mess of our date.”

“Bilbo—“

“Goodbye Thorin.”

“Wait,” said Thorin urgently, stepping closer. “Don't go.”

But it was too late. Bilbo had already faded away, trailing little wisps of light that dissipated on the wind. Blown away like so much mist.

Thorin cursed, watching helplessly as the last traces of him vanished into the marsh. He caught the eyes of one of the kids, realizing that they were staring at the same thing he was. Where Bilbo had just been. Of course. They could see Bilbo now. He’d shown himself. 

Sighing, Thorin ran a hand through his hair and went to speak to Maggot.

“Will they be alright?”

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, glaring about the marsh darkly. “These three have just had a bad shock mostly, but they’ll need to be monitored for any signs of hypothermia or trauma. The other one is still unresponsive. It's too soon to tell.”

His eyes were dragged over to the figure on the ground, so small and unresponsive. It was a girl, in her mid teens by the looks of it. They had placed an oxygen mask over her mouth, and even as he watched a paramedic was monitoring her pulse, another injecting her with something. He looked away, his stomach churning at the sight. 

A low drone filled the air, the helicopter finally arriving to land down precariously on a patch of land. Thorin watched as they loaded the girl onto it, her friends staring numbly from the ground below before being ushered into the bounder cars and taken to the ambulances waiting for them further inland. Thorin drove along with them, functioning entirely on autopilot, Maggot’s presence enough to deflect any questions thrown his way.

What terrible thing did Bilbo think he had done? 

Was he somehow responsible for the presence of the reaper?

They were connected somehow, that much was certain. Bilbo had felt the reaper preparing to attack the group, he knew where and when it would happen. Thorin himself had seen the ghost come out of nowhere on his own behalf, clearly drawn to the dark presence. What was the nature of this connection?

What if Thorin had it backwards? 

What if it was _Bilbo_ that was causing the reaper to appear?

A small voice in the back of his head whispered that maybe Bilbo himself was the reaper, maybe the innocuous ghost truly was causing these attacks, thus explaining his continued presence and knowledge of them. 

That thought felt deeply and instinctively _wrong_ and he discarded it almost soon as it came to him. 

More likely, he was beginning to suspect that Bilbo had somehow caused the reaper to appear in the first place. The ghost was tied to that creature, that much he knew. But the how or why was still a mystery. Bilbo’s guilt would point to his involvement, unwilling or otherwise. 

And so the ghost beat himself up whenever someone got hurt.

That felt more likely. Bilbo _could_ be behind the attacks, but malicious— never. Thorin could not believe Bilbo was doing it on purpose, if he even was the cause in the first place. Though Thorin knew he was horribly biased toward the kindly ghost and wouldn't be willing to see fault in him. 

Perhaps it was time to do some snooping of his own?

When the car came to a stop he clambered out, finding himself in front of the Rushey General Hospital, if the sign was any indication. From what he could remember, Rushey was the nearest town on the edge of the Marish. He made his way over to a bench set against the outside of the building distractedly, his thoughts still running over the events of the day.

“I’ve just heard from the hospital, the kid is in stable condition now.” Maggot sat down beside Thorin with a sigh, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Her parents are on their way. This is the part I hate the most about this damn job.”

“You’ll be there,” said Thorin, watcher her silently. 

The older woman huffed. “Of course.” She shot him a look from the corner of her eye. “If you want to see the kid, I can let you in if you’d like.”

Thorin stared at her blankly. Of course he was concerned but he didn’t think it was his place. Maggot gave him a small smile, reading him correctly.

“I’m not the only one who’ll be feeling guilty about this, you know.”

Bilbo.

“He seems to be quite fond of you,” she continued, stretching out her legs with a grunt. “Haven’t seen him smile like that in years the way he was at you. Not that we tend to meet on the best of circumstances mind you, but the point still stands.”

Thorin twisted his hands in his lap, his heart fluttering hopefully. Maggot turned and leveled him with a hard stare. 

“Listen, I owe Bilbo. I owe him a lot. This whole damn place does, Buckland most of all. Hell, _Generations_ of us owe that little ghost, and he’s too daft to realize that some of us care about him as well. I’m not going to give you the shovel talk or anything,” she said, raising her hands defensively. “I’m not going to tell you they’ll never find your body, or that the marsh could be literally _full_ of bodies and no one would ever know—all I’m saying is that you be _careful_ with him, alright? Sometimes relationships just don’t work out the way you hope they will—I’m divorced myself, it does happen—and that’s alright so long as you’re both civil about it. But don’t you _dare_ toy him around. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes ma'am,” replied Thorin, sitting up straighter in his seat. Oh yes. From the steel in her eyes he understood her perfectly. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Good.” Her gaze softened and she smiled. “You seem to make him happy. If you’re feeling up to it, now might be a good time to give that a shot, eh? He’s a bit dramatic sometimes, our Bilbo is. Comes with being a ghost I suppose, but whatever nonsense he told you, he’ll be wanting friendly face about now I reckon. And I’ll bet my badge he’ll be inside with that poor kid right about now, beating himself up.”

“Thank you,” said Thorin, standing. Maggot remained sitting on the bench, looking up at him.

“My pleasure. You seem a decent sort. The girl’s parents should be here in twenty minutes or so. It’d be best to clear out by then.”

“Of course. Until later, then.”

“I’ll be in touch. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you know how I wanted to have this done by Halloween? That's regrettably not going to happen. *facepalm* This month has been crazy. I now have a crappy full-time job, thought I had bed bugs but really just broke out in hives for no apparent reason, and I lost my wallet. As I'm writing this chapter I had to take a day off work because I got sick, and I had to run over to the clinic to get a doctors note. It's been super stressful, and honestly if I could I would very much like to spend all of october writing spooky bagginshield instead. 
> 
> That being said, I refuse to abandon any of my fics! I'm going to keep writing this story until it's done, though I might update some of my other fics in between chapters. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me. I know I must be a frustrating writer to follow, but I really am just a slow writer. I'll spend two hours working on a chapter and only manage to edit a few paragraphs and add a couple of lines. I don't know why, it just takes me a long time. But thank you so much for your patience and support, it means the world to me.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this every year, but I'm really gonna try and get this done for halloween (2017!) The next chapter is already done, and then there's just three more after that!

The room was small, the off-white paint of the walls catching a glare from the grey light from the single window. The bed was the first thing Thorin saw when he entered, then the girl laying motionless on it, hooked up to all manner of machines, tubes and wires snaking away from her body. Looking at it made him vaguely ill. Something about hospitals had always made his skin crawl, the too clean smell of antiseptic contrasting nauseatingly with an underlying feeling of sickness. There was a chair set by the side of the bed, already occupied.

Taking care not to move silently, he made his was over. “Hey,” he greeted softly, wishing not for the first time that he could reach out and touch the ghost hunched guiltily in the chair. He settled for standing next to him, placing a hand on the chair’s back. Had Bilbo been of flesh and blood his fingers would be brushing against the fabric of his jacket.

“…M’ sorry I ran out on you.” Bilbo didn’t lift his gaze, eyes fixed on the unconscious figure in the bed. Attention occupied, Thorin took a moment to study his friend. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes made stark by the paleness of his face, his golden curls a mess. There was something hazy about him, rendering him faintly transparent and shimmery around the edges. As if he were having trouble holding onto his form.

Thorin swallowed, his gaze heavy. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He huffed, still not lifting his gaze. “She might not wake up because of me. I think I do have to apologize.”

“They’d likely all be dead if not for you,” said Thorin. He rubbed his thumb against the back of the chair where Bilbo’s shoulder met it and wondered if he could feel it. He hoped he could. There was so much he wished he could offer Bilbo, but all he had was his presence and his voice. 

It didn’t feel like it was enough.

Bilbo was silent for a long while, eyes haunted as he continued to stare sightlessly at the bed. Eventually he sighed and shut his eyes wearily. “It’s my fault the wraith is out there in the first place.” He rubbed his face with his hands, taking a deep breath.

“How,” asked Thorin carefully, well aware he was treading on thin ice. “How is it your fault?”

He just shook his head and hunched into himself further. “I’m…I’m not ready just yet. I will tell you. I promise. Just not right now. I’m not…not feeling too well,” he admitted, voice very small, “and it will make it worse. Just thinking about it drains me...”

“Then don’t,” said Thorin quickly, alarmed at how Bilbo’s form had begun to waver, flickering and shimmering like a candle in the wind. His fingers tightened on the back of the chair. “Whenever you’re ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if it’s hurting you.”

Bilbo finally looked at him, his smile a tired, worn thing. “You’re very kind. You know that, don’t you?”

“You’ve said,” replied Thorin, heart full of affection and worry in equal turns for the small man. “But I’m not the one wearing myself out trying to save everyone.”

There was a sound of a throat clearing by the door. Thorin’s head jerked up, finding a nurse leaning against the door frame. He squashed the urge to shift guiltily, knowing it must have looked as if he were talking to the chair.

“He’s right you know,” the nurse said, a firm set to her features.

He blinked, eyeing her in confusion. “Sorry?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her face and trying not to look at Bilbo. 

She wasn’t looking at Thorin. “You’ve saved a lot of people, Bilbo. You must know that.”

The ghost looked up sharply, staring at the nurse intently. His eyes widened in recognition. “…Aster?” he asked, voice barely more than a surprised whisper.

She smiled gently. “Hello Bilbo. You saved my life seven years ago. I was lost and so scared, but you came and drove that awful wraith away and talked to me to keep me calm until the shirriffs came. I’ve never forgotten your kindness. And I’m not alone in that. My aunt and cousin both owe you their lives. We’re all so grateful, Bilbo.”

Bilbo had one hand pressed to his mouth, the other clenched in his jacket near his stomach. His eyes were watery, shoulders hunched, clearly affected. Good, thought Thorin, a rush of pride filling his chest. _Let him know what his actions have done._

“I told you,” he said to Bilbo smugly, “no one blames you.”

“Of course not,” agreed Aster, scowling. Bilbo made a small sound behind his hand but couldn’t seem to find any words. “Now we’ve cleared that up,” continued the nurse, “Lila’s parents will be here soon so you two might want to clear out.”

“Ah. Right,” said Thorin. Aster nodded and sent one last smile at Bilbo before ducking back out of the room.

“Oh my,” managed Bilbo, lowering his hand and letting out a shuddering breath.

“See,” said Thorin, leaning gently into the chair, “no more beating yourself up.”

Bilbo gave a teary laugh, his nose scrunching up as he sniffled. “Is that an order, _Inspector_ Oakenshield?”

“It is, “ agreed Thorin seriously. “Of the highest magnitude.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “The highest?”

“Indeed.”

“Goodness. What happens if I disobey?”

“You’d better not disobey, or, or…” he cast about for some suitably mundane punishment to threaten a ghost with and came up with nothing, “…or else.”

Bilbo chuckled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh dear me. I’d best not risk it.”

“Wise decision, Mister Baggins.”

 

Xxx

When Thorin got back to the house it was to find that Gloin had arrived with his family from Michel Delving. Nearly a year ago Gloin had put in an international transfer with Dain requesting to work for the Shire Shirriffs. Police work in the Blue Mountains was demanding, and he was frustrated at always having to give up plans with his family for his demanding job.

Shortly after they moved, all anyone had heard from them was how happy they all were and how much time Gloin now got to spend with his family. He was nothing if not fiercely proud and endlessly affectionate of his wife Shuli and their young son Gimli. The move had clearly done them all a world of good.

It was Gloin that had inspired Dis to make the move to the Shire herself.

Gloin and Shuli were sitting outside on the front porch with Dis and Vili, the kids running wild in the yard and screeching excitedly.

“There he is!” roared Gloin, getting to his feet as Thorin got out of the car. He gripped in in a fierce hug, Thorin’s feet actually leaving the ground with the force of it. “Thorin laddie!”

“Gloin,” greeted Thorin, a bit breathlessly. He grinned up at his older cousin. “It’s good to see you.”

When he was finally released, Shuli was waiting for her turn to squeeze the life out of him, her bright red hair hanging down in a massive braid behind her. “Thorin! It’s been too long.”

“It has, “ he agreed. “Good to see you, Shuli.”

“Gimli” she called. “Come say hello to Uncle Thorin!”

Little Gimli came running over, stubby legs pumping furiously as he ran. “Uncle Torin!” For a five year old he was considerably stocky, and when he barreled right into Thorin’s legs he had to take a hasty step back to steady himself.

“Whoa,” said Thorin, hefting the boy up. “Hey Gimli. You’re so big.”

Gloin and Shuli beamed, pride for their son stamped all over their faces. “Isn’t he just?” said Shuli fondly. “Built like his adad.”

“Like his amad too!” growled Gloin, grinning. “Maybe he’ll even be a professional wrestler on day, just like her, eh?”

“Oh you!” Shuli gave her husband an ‘affectionate’ punch to his arm, Thorin wincing in sympathy at the force of it. Shuli sometimes had trouble knowing her own strength. Gloin didn’t seem to mind from the smitten expression on his face. He had the bulk to cushion the blow anyhow. That was the way it had always been between the two of them, for as ling as Thorin could remember. It honestly was a bit much to handle, being around them. They could make a whole room of people feel like a third wheel.

“Dow you go, big guy,” said Thorin, letting Gimli down. The boy immediately took off across the yard back to where Fili and Kili were jumping in a pile of leaves, yelling excitedly. The three had always gotten along well despite the age gap.

“Thorin, come sit with us!” called Dis, waving from her lawn chair. It had turned into one of the few sunny afternoons they’d had all fall, and clearly they’d wanted to take advantage of it before the long cold of winter set in with its grey skies and heavy clouds.

“I should take a shower,” Thorin said, walking up to the porch with Shuli and Gloin.

“Oh fine—” she flapped her hand at him “—but talk to us for a minute before you run off and be antisocial, all right?” 

Gloin broke into loud laughter, slapping Thorin heartily on the back. “Ach, that’s right laddie. Never were much of a talker, eh?”

“Uh—“

“Never was,” agreed Dis, grinning. He frowned at the attention. “Always the brooding detective, our Thorin. Now Thorin, how was your drive?”

“It was…” Four teenagers were attacked by a wraith. One of them might not wake up. His ghost friend (boyfriend?) was somehow connected to said wraith and possibly responsible for its appearance. They might all be in terrible danger from this wraith, but they were working on a way to stop it for good. “Interesting,” he settled on.

“Descriptive.”

“Where did you drive out to?” asked Gloin, sitting back down in his chair. “I haven’t seen much of Buckland myself.”

“The marrish,” replied Thorin. “There was a boardwalk.”

Vili made an interested noise. “Sounds nice.”

“They’ll be closing it for the season soon,” added Thorin quickly, images of the endless fog and the helicopter taking the unconscious girl away flitting through his mind. He did not want anyone going near those marshes. “I think today was the last day it was open.”

“Ah well, we can always go next year.”

“Thorin lad,” started Gloin urgently, leaning forward, “have ye been to _The Ivy Bush_ yet?”

Thorin blinked. “The what?”

“Ach lad! It’s only the best pub in all the Shire!” He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “That’s it, we’re going tonight!”

“You just got here,” said Thorn, frowning. “Do you really want to drive out to a pub?”

“Not just any pub!” defended Gloin.

“Why don’t the two of you go out?” suggested Dis innocently. A little too innocently. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Have some time to catch up?”

“I’ll get my nephews all to myself,” grinned Shuli. 

Vili nodded in agreement. “You should go out. I’d join you of course, but I’ve got that thing, you know?”

“Right, your thing,” added Dis quickly. Thorin resisted the urge to groan. His whole family was about as subtle as a battering ram. It was clear they wanted him and Gloin to have a Talk. And he could guess what it would be about.

“Besides, it’ll do you good to get out,” added Dis, nodding.

He raised an eyebrow. “I was out,” he said defensively. “I’ve been going out nearly everyday.”

“Socially, Thorin. You know, with other people? Talking? Doing something fun?”

He had to remind himself that bringing up his undead boyfriend was not a good idea. Or Shirriff Maggot. Or the nurse from the hospital he had spoken to just an hour ago. 

And that was the problem. He had been around people all day, and now wanted some time to himself. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his family and didn’t want to be around them; It was just that he had a low social tolerance and needed time alone to think and recharge after being around people for any length of time. Being ganged up on by his well-meaning but slightly overbearing family was a bit more than he could handle. At least not without a break. 

And right now he needed to think and sort through everything he had learned about Bilbo and the reaper.

“Alright, go on, take your shower,” sighed Dis, smiling at him in fond exasperation. “I can tell you’re in one of your moods.”

“Aye, we’ve an hour or two before we’ll have to head out,” said Gloin. The _Ivy_ is up in Michel Devling, but it’s well worth the drive.”

“Isn’t that out in the West Farthing?” asked Thorin.

“Oh aye, it’s about an hour’s drive but all country roads, no traffic.”

“All right. Give me an hour and I’ll be ready.”

“Take your time,” offered Dis. “Come down when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” he nodded, grateful she had managed to read his mood. She always could, it was just that she didn’t always accommodate it.

He quickly excused himself, heading into the house and taking off his jacket and marsh-splattered boots. He made straight for the shower. 

The hot water was soothing after the cloistering paranoia of the fog, the fear and grime of the marsh washing away under the spray. 

The images racing behind his closed eyes were not so easily banished.

 

_Bilbo, looking so small and fragile, heavy with the weight of guilt and unspoken truths—_

_The endless wall of fog crowding around them as they ran down the boardwalk, rushes and water reeds waving in the wind like grasping fingers—_

_A cluster of paramedics around the too-still body—_

_The reaper materializing out of the dark woods, the world growing dim and cold around him, twisting in terror—_

_Bilbo staring at him with wide, terrified eyes, his hand going right through his burgundy jacket—_

 

Grunting, he rubbed at his eyes irritably, letting out a harsh breath. Rinsing the last of the shampoo from his hair he tuned the water off, taking a moment to breathe in the steam of the closed shower stall.

Alone and safe, he finally let his mind stray to the question it had been circling for the last few hours.

How could the reaper be Bilbo’s fault?

Had he somehow summoned it without realizing what it would do? Had he been tricked, blackmailed? Or just in the wrong place at the wrong time and somehow…caused an ancient evil spirit to resurrect itself? Or had it been intentional, only gotten wildly out of hand? 

Edging out of the shower he grabbed the fluffy dark blue towel Dis had assigned him at the beginning of his stay and dried himself off.

Bilbo thought he was guilty. He could sense the reaper, he knew when and where it was about to attack. He was linked to it somehow. He had some power to stop it. A power that drained him, made it hard for him to hold his human-like form when he used it too much. 

Body acceptably dry, he rubbed his hair roughly with the towel, hanging it on the rack when he was done. His reflection looked back at him in the steamy mirror, eyes tired, his dark hair wildly sticking up in every direction. He combed his fingers through it absently. 

It had been approximately two hundred years since the reaper was first seen. 

Its appearance coincided roughly around the same time that Bilbo Baggins went missing, only a few days after four children also went missing. 

One of these children was Bilbo’s nephew. 

Assumedly, the missing children were what caused Bilbo to run off. 

Had he thought he could save them?

Puling on his trousers, he decided a change of clothes was in order, not wanting to wear the same thing he’d been wearing when…everything had happened. He opened the door a crack, letting the steam escape from the bathroom and peered out into the hallway. Everything was quiet. He could hear the muffled sounds of talking from outside, the screams and laughter from the kids rising above it. Bare-chested, he carried the rest of his clothes back to his room, shutting the door and dropping them in a pile.

Before he’d gone missing, Bilbo was reported to have been talking about a cult or some kind of dark magic. 

Related to the kidnappers?

No one had taken anything he’d said seriously. Bilbo had then disappeared. Shortly after his disappearance the missing children had been found, claiming Bilbo had saved them. 

But Bilbo himself was never seen again. 

So what had happened?

Thorin sighed and rooted around for some fresh clothes, pulling them on absently. There was a chance Bilbo had simply run off and gotten lost without ever finding the missing children. Perhaps the four had escaped on their own, or were helped by someone else. Someone they had mistaken for Bilbo? But if one of them was his nephew he should have been able to tell if it was his uncle or not.

It was likely that Bilbo—if this Bilbo Baggins from two hundred years ago even was his Bilbo—had managed to find the missing children and saved them. 

Possibly getting himself caught or killed in the process. 

Unless Bilbo had died before finding the children and it was his ghost that had come to save them?

He paused, a sweater hanging around his shoulders where he’d been tugging it on. 

What made a ghost anyway? 

He thought back to all the films and books he’d ever read with ghosts and tried to remember what the causes were.

Unfinished business? A sudden violent death, where the soul couldn’t understand what had happened? A jealous thirst for the life that was untimely taken from them? A want for justice, for validation? 

Thorin snorted and shoved his arms through the sleeves. If that was the case surely his own Grandfather was still around somewhere, along with countless others. And what about wars and murders? Children killed in accidents and sickness, too young to comprehend what had happened? No. Surely there must be more to it than that, or all the world would be full of ghosts.

But maybe Bilbo was an exception. Something about his death had been more than simply that. It tied him to the reaper. 

And what _was_ the reaper? Some terrible wraith? 

Fully dressed he collapsed on his bed, squeezing his eyes shut and blocking everything else out. 

What was the reaper? 

There were stories enough about the dark creatures prowling their world, terrible specters of long forgotten evils from earlier ages. The magic had faded from their world long ago, leaving only echoes and shadows behind. Ancient history spoke of different times, a land filled with different races and magicks that were commonplace. Today the decedents of these races still had their secrets. Thorin knew the cities of his ancestors were undoubtedly built with their ancient knowledge. The Shire must have secrets of its own.

That book. There was that book in the library about the Barrow Downs. What was it called? ‘The Terror on our Borders’, or something like that. Everyone knew the Barrow Downs were allegedly one of the most haunted places in the world, full of wraiths and hungry ghosts of long dead kings. Was that what the reaper was? A wraith? Was it from the Barrow Downs, crept into the Shire to prey on its inhabitants?

Bilbo Baggins of two hundred years ago certainly thought there was something dark and unnatural involved, beyond a simple kidnapping. 

A cult that wanted children? For what? A sacrifice? Some dark ritual? The blood of innocents? Something told Thorin whoever took the children wouldn’t have stopped at just taking blood. These practices demand lives. Lives for what? To summon a wraith? To embody dark magic? And to what end? Power? Revenge? 

Whatever the reason, the children had been freed. And Bilbo Baggins had gone missing. Possibly taken in their place. Killed in their place?

They never had found a body. 

There had barely been a search. 

A sigh escaped his lips, long and slow.

That’s right. According to the authorities Bilbo had lost his mind and run off, never to be seen again. He’d been declared dead a scarce few weeks later, no great search put into place. Everyone more than willing to believe he had simply run off and died in a ditch somewhere.

Lost his mind. 

Perhaps that was something they had in common, Bilbo and he.

Thorin’s jaw tightened. 

They had never found a body. For all they knew, Bilbo could have still been alive at the time. Alive and declared dead, his home and belongings given away in a public auction while he suffered Mahal only knew what torment.

Dwalin was still looking for information on Bilbo Baggins, but what he’d been sent so far wasn’t pretty.

Something rubbed him the wrong way about the investigation—if it even could be called one for how little anyone had seemed to care. Why such a short search? Why didn’t anyone even bother to look into what Bilbo had suggested? No matter how far-fetched it sounded, if four children had gone missing and someone claimed to have any information, something had to be done. 

Dwalin hadn’t found any records of official police statements from the children. They hadn’t bothered to take any. Reportedly they’d babbled mostly nonsense, and that was he end of it. Snooping around, Dwalin had found other news sources, a local reporter who had spoken with the children. According to her, the children insisted that Bilbo had saved them. There was nothing to be said of their abductors. No arrests were made, no one even suspected of being involved. 

In fact it seems like the whole case was dropped and closed as soon as the children were found.

It was suspicious. It was really fucking suspicious and made Thorin want to grab whoever was responsible for this laughable excuse of an investigation and shake them until something more useful came out. 

Or just punch them in the face.

That would be satisfying too, especially as he had begun to suspect the shirriffs had tried to cover the whole thing up, possibly due to their own involvement. He hadn’t enough to go on that theory, but his gut was hinting heavily in that direction.

And it still got him no closer to figuring out what the link was between Bilbo and the reaper.

Thorin groaned and rubbed his eyes, rolling over to lay on his back. What he needed was more information. And a damn cup of coffee. 

Maybe something a bit stronger than coffee.

All he knew was that Bilbo had never intended for all of this to happen. His fault or not that the Reaper was here, Bilbo was doing everything he could to stop it, and had been for what might well be two hundred years. And that was two hundred years too long.

His phone vibrated on his bed, the sound of it alerting him to a text. Opening his eyes he rolled over, clumsily grabbing it up and squinting at the screen. Blearily he typed in his pass-code and brought up the message.

Speak of the devil. It was from Dwalin.

 

Dwalin: 4:27PM Oct 28

Apologized yet?

 

His lips quirked in a smile. It had only been a few days but already things had changed so much between Bilbo and himself, and changed for the better. If only it were that simple.

 

Thorin: 4:28PM Oct 28

He told me I was an idiot and I agreed. We went on a date today.

 

Dwalin: 4:28PM Oct 28

Well fucking bless Mahal! I was worried I’d have to come over there and get your head out of your arse. 

 

Thorin: 4:29PM Oct 28

I’m not that bad. 

 

Dwain: 4:29PM Oct 28

Those “I FUCKED UP” texts say otherwise.

 

Thorin: 4:30PM Oct 28

Shut up.

 

Dwalin: 4:31PM Oct 28

So how was the date??

 

Thorin: 4:33PM Oct 28

It was good. 

 

Dwalin: 4:33PM Oct 28

Is that him in the picture you sent?

 

He blinked, staring at the screen blankly. 

_What?_ he sent.

 

Dwalin: 4:34PM Oct 28

Is that Bilbo?

 

Thorin’s heart gave a wild thump in alarm. He’d sent Dwalin some pictures the other day of Buckland, mostly of Dis and Vili and the kids. He didn’t have a picture of Bilbo. He’d never tried to take one, unsure if he would even show up in the shot. He hadn’t been sure if Bilbo would be offended if he tried. 

 

Thorin: 4:34PM Oct 28

What picture?

 

He lay there on his back, drumming his fingers against the back of his phone anxiously, waiting for Dwalin to reply. What was Dwalin talking about? 

His phone dinged. He opened the message and stopped, starring at it in bewilderment.

It was the picture he’d taken at Bofur’s barn. There was the lone pumpkin out the back, the round door design lit up by the candle inside. 

And there was Bilbo, crouching beside it and looking up at him curiously, a small smile playing around his mouth.

A rush of air left him, his pulse spiking. Bilbo was there—he had been there that day. But Thorin hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t wanted to be seen. How many other pictures was Bilbo in?

Thorin flipped through his photo library with slightly shaking fingers, eyes widening. A flash of a red jacket in one shot, an odd golden blob of light hovering in another—he kept flipping through them, stopping at one of Bilbo leaning against a wooden fence and watching him curiously, something shy in his gaze.

Swallowing, he shook his head incredulously, an odd mixture of shock and affection surging through him. 

But one picture had his stomach give a sickening curl. He had taken it early, maybe on his second night here. It was from this very room, looking out the window and down at the woods surrounding Dis’ house. It was dark, the sun setting and washing everything in dusky shadows and deep reds over the changing leaves. Down by the woods, just by the road disappearing into the trees was a shadow. A shadow that had no place being there, the sun was coming from the wrong direction. And even then it could not account for the distinct human shape to it, nor the strange flash of red like two eyes staring out from the middle of it.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Another vibration from his phone snapped him back to the present.

 

Dwalin: 4:47PM Oct 28

I didn’t mean to pry, laddie. It’s all right if you don’t want to talk about it.

 

Thorin: 4:48PM Oct 28

It’s ok. That’s Bilbo.

 

Dwalin: 4:48PM Oct 28

He’s a cute little thing, isn’t he? Just your type.

 

Thorin smiled, flipping back to the picture of Bilbo behind the barn. He traced it fondly.

 

Thorin: 4:48PM Oct 28

He is.

 

Dwalin: 4:50PM Oct 28

You were worried about the lad. Does he need help?

 

Thorin: 4:51PM Oct 28

It’s complicated. We’re working on it.

 

Dwalin: 4:52PM Oct 28

All right. But you let me know if you need anything. I can get over there in a few hours. Knock some heads together if I have to.

 

Thorin: 4:52PM Oct 28

I’ll let you know if any heads need knocking. Could you keep looking into that file?

 

Dwalin: 4:52PM Oct 28

I’ll send whatever I can find. But you owe me, laddie.

 

Xxx

 

Michel Delving was the capital of the Shire, home to the only airport, the only prison and the only Mathom House in the Shire. It also was where the Mayor resided along with the Chief Shirriff, and had an actual honest to goodness nightlife, going by the traffic and pedestrians walking about everywhere. There were far more trees and flowers then Ered Luin’s city center ever had, but then, like most city centers in the mountains, it was underground. 

They found The Ivy Bush easy enough, the noise and volume of people attesting to its quality. Despite the rush, Gloin got them a table easily enough, waving at a few men seated at the bar as he got them drinks. 

For a while they sat and talked and drank their beer and ate the heaping plates of food that was somehow better than any other pub-food Thorin had ever had. But Thorin could tell Gloin was waiting until he let his guard down before starting on whatever reason he’d really invited him out here.

“How are ye liking the Shire, laddie?”

And there it was. 

“It’s fine.” Thorin took a drink of his beer, the taste surprisingly good if not a bit sweet for his tastes. “Lot’s of trees…nature.”

Gloin hummed, a knowing look in his eyes. “More peaceful around here than in the mountains, aye?”

His hands tightened around his glass. He wouldn’t call near-death experiences and vengeful spirits peaceful. But then he was sort of dating a ghost that was inexplicably tied to a life-sucking wraith. “It’s a different pace of life,” he settled on.

“That it is, lad. More time for the important things in the Shire. Like family.” He gave Thorin a significant look. “Runs a slower pace here. Might do ye some good.”

“Gloin,” he warned, feeling another lecture about _how Thorin ought to live his life_ coming on. Seemed a popular subject these days, he thought mulishly. Hadn’t Dain been enough?

His cousin waved a slightly unsteady hand at him. “Ach now lad, we’re just worried about ye. You’ll work yerself to an early grave one of these days. That’s part of why I came down to check on ye. Make sure yer settlin’ in alright.”

“I’m not settling in, I’m only here for two weeks.”

“Could be longer if ye wanted,” said Gloin, wagging a finger at him. “Dain would be happy to arrange a transfer for you. Did for me, got me all set us as a _Shirriff_ —still think it’s a funny title—but it’s much quieter around here and I always leave on time. Always get my full holidays and sick leaves. More time for Shuli and Gimli now, what more could I ask?”

“I’m glad for your happiness.”

“We just want the same for you, lad.”

“I don’t have a wife or a child—“

“But ye could! Spend some more time on yerself, find a nice lass and settle down—“

“Gloin, I’m gay,” interrupted Thorin, “or did you forget my seventeenth birthday?” Thorin could only wish he could forget his seventeenth birthday party. It was Bree, it was messy and Thorin had managed to come out in front of half of his cousins by trying to drunkenly flirt with a handsome boy from Bree. The less said about that one the better. 

“Ach, that’s right.” Gloin waved him off. “Find a nice lad then, settle down, adopt a wee one or three.”

“Look, Gloin, I’m glad this has all worked out for you,” he fought to keep his tone civil and realized he was failing. “But that’s not what I want for me. I _like_ working. I enjoy my job. I’m not looking to settle down and start a family. I already _have_ a family. I don’t need to make one of my own.”

“No one said ye have to, then. But it’d be nice if you had a someone, a someone to see ye looked after.” Thorin bristled, not enjoying being spoken of as if he were some elderly man, too weak to care for his own needs. Some burden they all had to take turns caring for. “Take some time off every once in a while,” continued Gloin, oblivious to Thorin’s darker turn of thought. “We’re your family and we’re worried about you!”

He rubbed at his forehead irritably, biting back the bitter words that sprung to his tongue. Gloin was an emotional drunk. Nothing would come of arguing with him in this state. It would just set him off and get him teary eyed and Thorin would end up apologizing for something or other just to get him to stop weeping all over his sweater. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. He could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. “Did Dain set you up to this?”

“He’s been concerned, aye,” started Gloin slowly, “but so have all of us. He suggested I come by but I’d already been meaning to come and see ye for your stay with Dis.”

“No, I mean did he set you up to try and talk me into transferring here?”

“Ach now, I only think it might do you some good to take some time for yourself.”

Thorin resisted the urge to beat his head against the table. “And has anyone bothered to consider how I feel?”

“You’ve been working yerself too hard, laddie,” said Gloin, wagging a stern finger at him. “We all can see it.”

“Who’s ‘we all’?” asked Thorin, hands clenched tightly around his glass. “You and Dis, or does Dain have a whole network set up to give him updates on what I do with my time?”

“No no, it’s not like that!”

“Then what else does Dain want from me? I’m taking time off and I’m spending time with my family. He may be my boss but he can’t transfer me off to another country without my consent.”

“No one’s going to force you into anything,” defended Gloin. “We just want to make sure you’re taking time to think things through.”

“I am, all right? I’m thinking things through.” Gloin regarded him skeptically. “Look, you have to promise to respect whatever decision I come to, even if you disagree with it.” Gloin opened his mouth, and Thorin hurried to press his point, “otherwise it’s just harassment, and I _will_ file a complaint if it doesn’t stop.”

Gloin looked stricken. “Laddie—“

“I’m serious, Gloin,” continued Thorin lowly. “If you or Dain or anyone tries to force me into transferring where I don’t want to be I will move halfway across the world just so I can make my own decisions.”

“Laddie, no, it’s not like that!”

“I should hope not,” said Thorin, willing himself to calm down.

“Ach, this isn’t going how it’s supposed to,” grumbled Gloin, staring mournfully into his beer. 

“You’ve made your point,” said Thorin gently. “I’ve made mine. I think it’s gone well.”

“You were always a difficult one, Thorin,” Gloin admonished, shaking his head. “Willful as anything, aye.”

“Look who’s talking.”

A sudden blare of loud electric guitar and deep bass vocals erupted from across the table, making him jump. It sounded like the folk metal Gloin had always favoured.

“Ach, it must be the missuss,” said Gloin, digging in his pocket for his phone. The song got louder as he took it out. He tapped the screen, cutting the song off and pressed it to his ear. “My jewel!” he greeted loudly. “Aye, we’ll be off soon, sangivasha…no more than four, I swear…aye, I’ll have Thorin drive back…see you soon, my precious treasure.” He hung up, sighing dreamily. “Have to head back soon, it’s getting’ late. You, eh, wouldn’t mind driving, would ye lad? You’ve a steadier hand after a drink than me.”

Thorin raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’ve had three more beers than I have.”

“Ach, don’ give me that math. No math in the pub.” 

Thorin sniggered, patting Gloin’s arm. “No math in the pub. I’ll look your bill over to make sure you paid the right amount, then?”

“There’s a lad! I’ll never forget the time my adad and yours took the whole family out celebrating and drinking some ten years ago for some huge business deal. Everyone was having a grand old time and then they pull out a blueprint and start writing it up in the middle of the table.” Thorin smiled, having heard this one before. “Groin was an architect but yer adad, yer adad fancied himself one. An’ he was just drunk enough to have a go at it right there in the middle of everyone’s good time. Said there was no time like the present, and off he went. And my adad went along with it, helping as best he could, but he was more than three sheets to the wind and kept getting his formulas mixed up with his drinking songs—and ye can bet the lads weren’t helping with that.”

Thorin smiled into his glass. “I don’t doubt it.” 

“Now yer adad’s always been a stubborn sort, insisted he didn’t need help and Groin was just as stubborn to give it anyway and throw his two cents in, even if just to correct his work when he weren’t lookin’. Well, let me tell you, the morning after they woke up with hangovers to make Mahal proud and their monstrosity of a plan to make him cry from the shame of it.” Gloin chuckled, resting his head heavily on his hand. “They’ve still got the damn thing framed and hung up in Groin’s office, beer stains and all.”

“Really?” asked Thorin, grinning.

“Oh aye. Show it to the young’uns, they do, say it’s a masterpiece of classic mistakes and some damn well planned bits of useless shite. Even today no one knows what it was meant to be. An’ from that day forth my adad’s motto was ‘ _no math in the pub!_ ’”

Thorin chuckled along with Gloin, a warm feeling growing in his chest from both the beer and the shared memory. Those were good days. Before Thor had started to fade, back when Thrain was still bright and hopeful and always had time for his family. 

He knew he had a tendency to overlook the good memories he had of his youth. It was hard not to look back on even the happiest memories and wonder if even then the shadow of tragedy and misfortune had begun to creep over his family and he had simply not noticed, young and naïve as he was, willfully oblivious of anything that could befall them. It set a pall over his earlier memories, casting them in a bitter uncertain light that was hard to shake. 

But it was wrong to dismiss them. Often the stolen moments of happiness were worth the most, all the more precious for their scarcity and whatever may surround them. It was disrespectful to not only his family but to himself to embitter those memories so. They had been happy. No matter what happened after, or even before, they had been happy then, in the moment, and nothing would ever change that.

Blinking, Thorin came back to himself and drained the last of his beer. “We’d better get back before Shuli calls again.”

Gloin sat back with a dreamy sigh, “Ah, Shuuuuli. The sound of her voice is like the blows of Mahal’s mighty hammer upon his anvil! Her hair wrought of the fiery sparks of the Great Forge! Her breasts are like the glorious mounds of—“

“And it’s time to get the bill,” cut in Thorin, waving a waitress over. It was always time to end the night when someone started waxing poetic. _Always._

While he was waiting for their waitress to come back with the credit machine, a small group all in their early twenties came up to the bar. From how loudly they were talking Thorin was willing to bet they’d been pre-drinking before hitting the pub. 

“So, we’re going up to Bag End on Halloween, wanna come?” 

Thorin stilled in his seat. That name sounded familiar. Gloin was paying them no mind, immersed in typing something on his phone.

“Are you crazy, Mosco? I don’t want to be cursed!”

“Oh come on, that’s just an old myth.”

“Do you know how many horror movies start with someone saying ‘it’s just an old myth’ and then they all die _horribly?_ ”

“How many?”

“Too many! Enough! No thank you!”

“Aww, don’t be such a baby, Hildifons.”

“No, I’m with Hildi. That’s plain sense.”

“Yeah, feel free to go but count me out.”

“You guys are lame! Laaame!”

“My Grandma said she and her friends touched the door when they were teenagers.”

“Yeah?”

“Really?!”

“Oh my god, what happened?!”

“Are they all dead?”

“It was a long time ago though, they might be from like, old age and stuff.”

“Juniper! That’s so insensitive!”

“Sorry!”

“Are you gonna let her tell the story or not?”

“Sorry Gilly, go on.”

“Yeah, what happened?”

“Well she didn’t _see_ anything cause she was near the back—“

“Figures.”

“Shush!”

“—But she _said_ there was this awful noise and the girl in front saw something so terrifying she turned white as a sheet and couldn’t speak for three whole _days_ afterwards.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re making that up!”

“Am not!”

“Your grandma’s making it up then.”

“Hey! You leave her out of it!”

“Yeah, Gilly’s grandma is the best! Have you tried her cookies?”

“Ewww, that sounds so wrong!”

“Oh my _god_ , Mosco!”

“What?! What?! I’m just saying—“

“Get your mind out of the gutter for like, three _entire_ minutes, will you?”

“Everyone who thinks Mosco should pay for the first round of drinks to atone for his sins say ‘aye!’”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“Aaaaye!”

“Oh come on, guys!”

“Sorry pal, you asked for that one.”

“At least pay for Gilly’s drink.”

“Oh, good call.”

“Yeah seriously.”

“All right, all right fine.”

“Nice. What’s the most expensive drink they have?”

“Oh come on!”

“Dude, get an _entire_ bottle of wine.”

“Champagne!”

“Here you are,” the waitress came back with the credit machine. By the time he had paid, the conversation by the bar had turned to other topics than curses and old myths.

“What was that about?” Thorin asked, something prickling at his mind.

Gloin looked up from his phone and squinted at him. “Eh?”

“Bag End?”

“Ach, the local lads.” Gloin snorted. “They say it’s haunted. It’s an old smial up the Hill in Hobbiton. Very famous. Legend says that any who try to enter are cursed.”

“Cursed by what?”

“By old Mad Baggins, that’s what.” 

Thorin felt like he’d been punched in the chest, all the air rushing out of his lungs. Mad Baggins. He’d heard that name before. 

“It was his house and now he haunts it.” Gloin squinted and waved his hands around dramatically for effect. “They say he still lurks around the roads of Hobbiton accosting unsuspecting travelers and luring away children. If you enter his house you’ll be cursed and die within the year! They get reports of trespassing every year but nothing serious ever happens, just kids getting spooked.” He slammed his fist down on the table loudly. “But that’s half the fun of Halloween!” he hollered. “Do ye remember that year when we…”

They left shortly after, Gloin climbing drunkenly into the passenger seat of his family sized jeep. Thorin got into the driver seat with more grace than his cousin had managed, turning the keys in the ignition and backing out of the parking lot slowly. 

As he drove they passed the sign pointing towards Hobbiton, only a few miles away down a country road. His fingers gripped the wheel tightly. 

That was where Bag End was. The alleged home of Mad Baggins.

The sinking feeling in his gut told him that he knew _exactly_ how real this Mad Baggins was. Perhaps he had left his home, but Thorin would bet he hadn’t left the Shire. 

Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for staying with this fic!


	10. Chapter 9

Sleep did not find Thorin easily that night. He lay in bed, his mind running through everything he’d seen that day and all the questions he still had no answers to. Rolling over for what felt like the hundredth time he eventually fell into a light doze.

A noise roused him some time later. Blinking, he took in the blurry numbers on his alarm clock. 11:44PM. He groaned. There was the noise again, this time registering in his head as his phone vibrating. 

Numbly he reached out, scrambling blindly on the night table for his phone. Fingers closing around it he pulled it over, taping the screen and cursing at the harshly bright light that flooded into his face. His face scrunched up as he tried to get his eyes to adjust. Hastily he typed in his passcode, lowering the brightness as soon as he was able.

 

[Unknown Number] 11:44PM Oct 28

Can you meet me at Brandybuck Hall around 10am?

 

“What?”

He ran a hand over his face sluggishly, trying to force his mind to wakefulness. An unknown number? It was too familiar sounding to be an advertisement. 

 

Thorin: 11:45PM Oct 28

Who is this? 

 

It was probably a wrong number. He shut his eyes against the light of his phone and dropped his head to his pillow. 

It vibrated again, startling him.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:45PM Oct 28

Sorry. I thought you’d be asleep. I would have given you my number but I don’t have a phone.

Before he could try to make sense of it a new message appeared.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:45PM Oct 28

Couldn’t really hold a phone if I had one. 

 

Thorin: 11:46PM Oct 28

??

 

Almost as soon as he had pressed send a reply came through.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:46PM Oct 28

I’m sorry dear. You go back to sleep. Come to Brandybuck Hall tomorrow morning if you feel up for it. But I can do this on my own if you need a lie in. You needn’t trouble yourself.

 

The messages came fast. Almost as if they were sent before he’d had a chance to reply. Or maybe they’d already been typed and whoever it was had sent them as soon as he had replied. 

A shiver ran down his arms. His heart gave a hard thump in his chest.

 

Thorin: 11:47PM Oct 28

Bilbo?

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:47PM Oct 28

Yes? 

 

Thorin let out a breath, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips.

 

Thorin: 11:47PM Oct 28

How did you get my number?

 

Thorin: 11:47PM Oct 28

Not that I mind.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:47PM Oct 28

It’s quite all right, dear. It took me the longest time to get my head around all of this electronic stuff. I don’t really understand but it’s very simple for me. I can manipulate them if I want to. We’re made of something similar I suppose.

 

He huffed a laugh, resting back more comfortably against the mattress. It was surreal, talking to Bilbo like this.

 

Thorin: 11:48PM Oct 28

So you’re haunting my phone.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:48PM Oct 28

Oh I _suppose_ you could say that. 

 

Thorin: 11:48PM Oct 28

You’re amazing.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:48PM Oct 28

Now you’ve gone and made me blush, you lovely man.

 

He grinned, feeling his own face heat up in response. 

 

Thorin: 11:48PM Oct 28

How am I texting you if you don’t have a phone?

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:48PM Oct 28

You’re texting yourself? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s all on your device, but I can read this, ah…address? At least I think that’s what it’s called. 

[Unknown Number]: 11:48PM Oct 28

I promise I’m not reading any of your other messages. I wouldn’t do that to you, Thorin. 

 

Thorin: 11:49PM Oct 28

I know. Stalking is more your thing.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:49PM Oct 28

You absolutely started it, _Mr._ Detective.

 

Thorin grinned into his pillow. He debated sending Bilbo a winking face, but had the thought he may not understand what it was. He would have to show him later. 

A new message came in before he could follow that train of thought any further.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:49PM Oct 28

It’s been lovely talking to you Thorin, but I insist you go back to sleep. I put you through a lot today and you need your rest.

 

Thorin: 11:50PM Oct 28

I don’t mind if I get to see you.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:50PM Oct 28

You’re far too sweet, do you know that?

 

Thorin: 11:50PM Oct 28

Is that a complaint?

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:50PM Oct 28

Certainly not! Now go to sleep, Thorin.

 

Groggy and tired as he was, Thorin was still reluctant to say goodbye just yet. It was so bizarre, talking to Bilbo like this on his phone, just as he would Dwalin or Dis. It made him more real somehow. And anything that made the ghost feel more real was something Thorin was entirely in approval of.

 

Thorin: 11:51PM Oct 28

I’ll see you tomorrow? Brandybuck Hall?

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:51PM Oct 28

Only if you’re up for it. Around ten if you can. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. 

 

Thorin: 11:51PM Oct 28

I’ll be there. Good night, Bilbo.

 

[Unknown Number]: 11:51PM Oct 28

Sweet dreams, Thorin.

 

Xxx

 

Morning found Thorin driving through the woods, the address for Brandybuck Hall loaded into his GPS. 

He’d woken thinking he’d dreamt the text conversation with Bilbo, but opening his phone had shown the messages still there. He’d grinned stupidly at them for a minute, scrolling back and reading the whole conversation over. It gave him an odd sort of thrill to put Bilbo’s name on his contact list. Even if he didn’t really understand how the ghost had contacted him through his phone he certainly wasn’t about to complain.

Not when it gave him a better way of reaching out to Bilbo then sitting around on a bench all day hoping he’d drop by.

Initially he’d thought he would have trouble falling asleep after Bilbo had texted him, yet he drifted off within minutes, waking to feel refreshed and well-rested. More than well enough to accompany Bilbo on whatever errand he had at the Hall. 

Even if he ended up running through another marsh and chasing after a wraith. 

Getting up, he’d gone downstairs to keep Dis and Vili company as they got ready to leave for work. It gave him a guilty sort of pleasure to watch them hurry themselves and the kids out the door while he sat leisurely enjoying his coffee and watching them. Taking pity, he’d insisted on doing the washing up from breakfast. Gloin and Shuli came down with Gimli some time later. They were planning on heading out to Tuckborough for some shopping. They invited him along but Thorin declined.

He had his own plans for today.

Crickhollow looked different in the weak sunlight filtering down through the thick cover of leaves. The little town looked almost friendly, lit up in a blur of red and orange flashing by as he drove. 

Thorin knew better.

Brandybuck Hall wasn’t very far from Dis’ house. The municipal center of Buckland, the Hall was an old, grand building standing alone in the woods, distanced from what hustle and bustle there was of the town proper.

What Thorin saw when he pulled into the spacious drive was a great sloping manor, the curved lines almost suggesting a hill with round windows dotting the sides. It was tall for a traditional Shire building, nearly three stories high and made of stone and wood. Leaves crunched under his tires as he pulled around the side. Only a handful of vehicles occupied the lot, unsurprising for a weekday morning.

Parking the car he turned off the ignition. A quick glance at his watched showed he was nearly twenty minutes early to when he was to meet Bilbo. He sighed, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs. They were sore from the running he had done yesterday. Didn’t that make him feel old and out of shape.

A walk would help. It was rare to see Buckland looking even remotely cheerful. In all time he’d been here there had been maybe three sunny days, and most of them had only been partially sunny before the clouds rolled back in.

He cracked open the car door, pushing it open fully with his foot and climbing out. The sun still shone faintly through the burnished canopy of trees, casting scattered shadows on the pavement. There was a chill in the air, the damp smell of wet wood and dying leaves thick on the breeze through the woods. 

Walking a few paces he noticed a sign by the far side of the parking lot, right near the back of the Hall. Curious, he made his way over, sticking his hands in his pockets and craning his neck to see what it said:

Buckland Cemetery

There was a path leading from the edge of the lot down into the cemetery. He caught a glimpse of tombstones winding down a forested slope.

What the hell. He still had some time.

His boots hardly made any noise as he followed the meandering path, damp leaves and packed dirt underfoot. This was an old cemetery, large trees standing as silent guardians over the scattered grave markers that gently wandered down and around the sloping terrain. There was a stillness to this place, a peaceful sort of watchfulness whispering through the trees on all sides. 

Shutting his eyes for a moment, he breathed in the crisp air and felt the wind lift his hair gently. Distantly he heard the sound of geese calling to each other, flying overhead as they journeyed south to escape the bite of winter.

As he walked further, he saw an old woman and a child sitting on a bench beyond a bend in the path, a little dog playing at their feet.

And further down, standing alone by a large willow tree was a figure, wearing a very familiar burgundy jacket.

His breath caught in his throat. 

Bilbo? 

Walking closer, his eyes picked out the golden curls and small stature he had come to know. The bare feet proved his identify beyond doubt. Checking his watch he saw that he was still seven minutes early for when they were to meet at the front of the Hall.

Bilbo was still some way down the path. Yet Thorin found himself reluctant to approach. Somehow he had never considered that a ghost would come to a graveyard for the same reason the living did. 

Who’s grave was he visiting?

Was it his own?

A strange sort of apprehension crept over him at the sight. The wind picked up, dragging leaves across the ground and whirling them up in lazy circles. They brushed against Bilbo, parting around him as if something had gently nudged them away. 

Thorin’s mouth went dry, the hair on his neck standing up. 

What was Bilbo anyway? A ghost? Or something much more powerful? 

Some instinct kept him from approaching, from interrupting such an unworldly meeting. He was struck suddenly with a sense of otherness that he often forgot around Bilbo. This was not a creature of flesh and blood. It felt as if the air itself was charged in this place, like the still just before a storm strikes, power coiling lazily in their air, ready to burst into life at any moment. 

Then Bilbo stirred, his shoulders drooping, a soft sigh escaping him. And just like that the spell was broken, and it was only Bilbo again, the small kindly man who had befriended Thorin, and just happened to be dead.

“Oh, hullo,” offered Bilbo weakly as Thorin came to his side. He wrapped his arms around himself and shot Thorin an embarrassed glance. His eyes were slightly red and puffy. As if he’d been crying.

“Hullo,” he said softly. He didn’t like seeing Bilbo look so small and unsure. It made him wish impossible things, that he could put an arm around the other man, could take his hand in his own. He swallowed and looked down at the base of the willow, finding a gravestone there:

 

Frodo Baggins 

5A 3390 - 3473

Beloved Friend and Uncle

 

Relief washed over Thorin, followed immediately by apprehension. It wasn’t Bilbo’s grave. But clearly it was the grave of someone he had cared for. With Bilbo’s history Thorin doubted that whoever this was had passed peacefully.

“I’m sorry.”

Bilbo sniffed. “Thank you.”

“How…did he die?” asked Thorin, regretting the question immediately. It was insensitive, and all too likely this buried soul had been a victim of the reaper. But Bilbo seemed to have read some of what he was thinking and only smiled, a quick quirk of the lips.

“Natural causes, thankfully. He lived a long full life. Never married. Not that it was allowed back then, nontraditional unions. Always wondered if he got that from me. But he was happy.” He sniffed again, his nose wrinkling. “Still wondered about his old uncle from time to time, sweet lad. It’s funny. It’s been so long but I still miss him so much.”

“He was your nephew,” breathed Thorin.

The missing children. This must be the nephew Bilbo had gone to find.

“Cousin technically,” corrected Bilbo absently, “but uncle was easier considering the age gap.” He smiled wistfully. “I was very fond of him. Would have named him my heir. I tried to but…” A dark expression crossed over his face, his form flickering for a moment.

Thorin clenched his fingers into a first to stop himself from trying to reach out.

Bilbo let out a long sigh, shutting his eyes briefly. “Sorry,” he apologized quietly. “It was a long time ago, but sometimes it feels like it’s still happening.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Bilbo shot him a tired smile. “You’re very kind. I keep telling you that and it keeps being true.”

A rush of affection filled Thorin, a blush warming his cheeks at the compliment. But he didn’t allow himself to be distracted. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked carefully.

He blanched, his shoulders rising defensively. He looked down at the ground, his fingers clenching in the fabric of his jacket nervously. “I…I’m sorry. Give me a little more time. I promise I will tell you, you deserve to know, just…it’s hard to think about.”

“It’s all right.” Thorin watched the ghost worriedly, a frown pulling at his mouth. “I don’t want you to think about it if it hurts.”

The ghost huffed out a laugh, gaze darting up to Thorin’s eyes and then away again anxiously. “It’s silly,” he confessed. “Really. It’s a bit like having an, an existential crisis or something. It’s just…harder to separate things when you’re—you’re dead. It’s like…like it’s still happening. Something’s messed with your sense of time and you can’t move on, it’s always _there_ , always happening to you, just—in the background.” His eyes looked haunted, shadows laying thick underneath them. “If you think about it too much, you get stuck, caught up in the horror of the moment and it’s...hard to find your way back…”

“Then don’t think about it,” said Thorin firmly.

“All right,” agreed Bilbo with a tired sigh. “For now,” he amended. “But anyway, come on. We ought to head up to the Hall.”

Thorin pursed his lips but allowed the subject to be dropped. He didn’t like seeing Bilbo in so much stress and pain. But he seemed to think it was important that Thorin knew what had happened, even if the recounting could be deeply unpleasant. And there was also the fact that Thorin himself was deeply curious as to what had befallen his friend. The more he knew about what had happened two-hundred years ago, the better prepared he would be to fight against the wraith. 

And once they defeated the wraith then Bilbo had no need to ever be in such distress again.

They walked up the winding path back towards the parking lot, the soft rustling of the leaves sounding all around them. 

Glancing up at him, Bilbo asked, “How are you, Thorin?”

He blinked, taken aback by the question. “Oh um, I’m fine.” Bilbo didn’t say anything though he felt his eyes on him all the same. “My cousin Gloin and his family are staying over for a few days,” he started, casting about for something to say.

“Right, you said.” Bilbo nodded. “How’s that been?”

“Fine, just fine,” said Thorin. “Noisy,” he added. They walked a few paces. Thorin sighed, plunging his hands in his pockets. “I think Dain may have talked him into coming down,” he confessed, scowling at the memory.

“Who’s Dain?”

“Another cousin. I work for him.”

“Why would he want Gloin to come down here?”

“To check on me,” grumbled Thorin.

Bilbo glanced up at him sharply. “Check on you? Goodness, does he think you’ve done something wrong?”

The heat in his voice had Thorin’s lips twitching. It was nice to hear someone else get offended on his behalf. “No, not like that. He’s—Dain’s sort of the reason I’m in Buckland at all.” Bilbo watched him carefully, leaving Thorin to disclose what he would. “I—my family thinks I work too much.”

“Do you?”

“No.” Thorn huffed, looking down at the dirt path. “Maybe a little. I _like_ working. They’re overreacting.”

Bilbo frowned, head tilted in consideration. “So they say you work too much, and your cousin—who’s also your boss— banishes you to the Shire.”

“To visit my sister,” added Thorin, nodding. “Not that he said to go here. Dís offered. Well, she informed me it’s been ages since I’ve last spent time with the boys so I had better come stay with them. I didn’t say no.”

“Right.” Bilbo frowned, eyes absently tracking the path. “And then when you’re here and doing what they wanted, they sick your other cousin on you.”

“Gloin. Yes.” Thorin sighed. He could feel his irritation towards his family flaring up again, though airing it out like this was helping. They were _trying_ to help him. It was just insulting that they felt the need to keep him under surveillance like a recalcitrant teenager. “I don’t mind staying with family,” he added, “they’re just overbearing. Gloin kept going on about how the Shire is such a great place for starting a family, and how Dain could set me up with a transfer so I’d have more time to find a nice someone and settle down. Start a family and all that.” He scowled.

Bilbo groaned in sympathy. “Oh _no_ , not the happy family talk.”

“The happy family talk,” agreed Thorin, a smile pulling at his mouth.

The ghost shook his head. “Terrible.”

“As if that’s the only way to live a fulfilling life,” said Thorin, snorting.

“But Thorin,” began Bilbo earnestly, eyes wide, “how can you expect to be happy without a wife and children and a little house all your own?”

Thorin gave a growl, making as if to swat the smaller man. The ghost laughed, dancing out of the way, his eyes shinning. “How dare you side with them!?”

“But they know what’s best for you!” Bilbo laughed, grinning up at him mischievously. 

“Bah,” huffed Thorin, grinning into his collar.

They reached the end of the cemetery, leaving it behind and stepping out onto the tarmac of the parking lot. 

“Can’t say I miss those talks,” admitted Bilbo, slowing so they were walking bedside each other again.

Thorin cast a surprised glance at him. “Were you pressured to start a family as well?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Bilbo shook his head, eyes distant. “Called me odd they did. Queer.” He smiled wryly. “The irony will be forever lost on them I’m afraid, considering I am, in fact, queer.”

Thorin huffed a laugh. “It must have been worse back then.”

“Oh it was,” he agreed. “The Shire has always been staunchly conservative about some things. The whole culture is built around family and the farm. Community as well, but when someone is a bit too far off the norm they won’t hesitate to shun them.”

A question laid heavy on Thorin’s tongue. He ignored it.

“Things are better today, from what I’ve seen,” continued Bilbo thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry it was like that.”

“Eh, well.” He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” Bilbo cast him a sly glance. “And besides, I’ve got myself a gorgeous mountain detective for a boyfriend. The way I see it, I’ve lucked out.”

Blood rushed into his ears in a furious blush. He sought some kind of reply, but before his could get his flustered mind in order Bilbo changed the subject.

“Anyway, come on. We really ought to get this over with.”

“What are we getting over with?” asked Thorin, thankful for the distraction.

“Saradoc. We’re going to have a little chat with Saradoc.”

“Saradoc?”

“The Master of Buckland. Don’t let the title fool you. It’s a hereditary position,” explained Bilbo briskly. “He’s like the mayor no one voted for, that doesn’t really do much other than settle a few disputes and show up at important events for speeches and pictures and the like.”

Thorin made a thoughtful sound. It was clear Bilbo did not think too highly of the Master. “I think I’ve met him.”

Bilbo looked at him in surprise. “Have you now?”

“Caught me trying to get into the Old Forest gate.”

“Oh that’s right, yes. I remember now. And then I had to save you from our wraith friend. That would be him.”

They’d reached the front of the Hall. Wide double doors stood closed, their sturdy brass handles tarnished with age. Casting an inquiring glance at his companion, Thorin pulled opened one of the doors, a rush of musty air hitting him as he stepped inside, Bilbo following behind.

Beyond the ornate doors was a darkened interior, light from the round windows sending glowing shafts slanting onto the floor from above. It was all glossy hardwood opening into a spacious entrance hall, soft sloping arcs and hardwood paneling along the walls. A desk was set off to the side. An older woman sat behind it, white hair pulled up in a bun, her focus on the computer screen in front of her.

Bilbo nodded his head in her direction. “This one’s all on you. She can’t see me.”

Clearing his throat Thorin walked over, his footsteps muffled in the musty stillness of the hall.

“Excuse me.” 

The woman looked up, her eyes steely and assessing as they took him in. 

“We’re here to see the Master,” said Bilbo helpfully.

“We’re—I’m here to see the Master.” Thorin winced at his slip.

“Sorry,” said Bilbo meekly. 

The woman raised a thin eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Booked an appointment for 10:15,” muttered Bilbo.

“Yes. I’ve an appointment for 10:15.” 

She hummed doubtfully, directing her gaze to the computer screen. Her nails tapped threateningly against the wood of the desk as she brought up the correct page, the light from the monitor reflecting faintly on her spectacles.

“Name?”

“Yours.”

“Y—Thorin Oakenshield.”

Her nails stopped. She regarded him over the top of her computer for a few long moments. 

“Correct.” Thorin let out a breath. “First door on your left up the main stairway. Wait outside. He’ll collect you when he’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Old Amaranth is always a pleasure,” remarked Bilbo as they climbed the old staircase, the wood creaking softly under Thorin’s boots.

“I can see that.”

“Can’t blame her really. She’s Saradoc’s mother, you see. Always been protective.”

“Ah. Why did you book the appointment under my name if you weren’t sure I’d be coming?”

“W _ell_ ,” Bilbo drew the word out. “If you didn’t come I would have just drifted into his office at 10:15 anyway. He’d have the time booked off and wouldn’t have an excuse ready not to see me.”

“Is there a reason he wouldn’t want to see you?”

“Erm…you know, we don’t really see eye to eye.” He laughed uncomfortably. “Last time I tried to make an appointment with him he simply refused to book me in. And then he screamed at me when I came in through the wall.” Bilbo shrugged guiltily, giving a little grin. “What else was I supposed to do if he refused to acknowledge me? I do try to be polite about it, but he makes it so difficult.”

“He did seem jumpy,” noted Thorin, thinking back to his own encounter with the man.

“Oh yes. Very jumpy Saradoc is. Can’t stand anything so unnatural as ghosts and undead spirits.” His nose wrinkled. “Hates to have anything to do with them.”

“I imagine this is the wrong town to be Master of.”

“Yes, yes it is. He, ah—” Bilbo rubbed his arm anxiously, seemingly oblivious to the movement “—He has a good reason not to.”

Thorin watched him, taking in the anxious movements and guilty set of his shoulders. “Something happened.”

“You know, he wasn’t supposed to be Master.” Bilbo avoided his gaze, his eyes drifting about unseeingly around the Hall. “His…his older brother was.”

“Ah.”

“He’s never forgiven me for what happened to Rorimac.” The ghost let out a harsh breath, finally looking at Thorin. “Don’t worry. I’ll do all the talking. I didn’t really need you to come along for this part. It was selfish to ask, but I—well, I’m very glad you’re here.”

“So am I,” said Thorin firmly.

Bilbo looked so nervous, the earlier bravado giving away to fractured nerves. Something in Thorin growled, a protective instinct flaring up like some great beast guarding its cubs. 

“If he’s rude to you, I can take him,” he murmured, leaning closer to his companion.

“What?”

“He’s much smaller than me. I can take him down if he bothers you.”

Bilbo gave a surprised laugh. “Oh I’ve no doubt of that.” He smiled, his eyes warm with affection. “You big silly! He’ll have the security throw you out if you tried!”

Thorin drew back, crossing his arms. “You’re all short around here. I can handle it.”

Bilbo grinned up at him, his curls tumbling across his forehead. “Oh really?”

“Positive.”

“What about Amaranth? She’s viscous when it comes to her son.”

Thorin balanced. “There’s always the window.”

Bilbo sniggered. “Very resourceful.”

The door opened. Bilbo drew back behind Thorin’s bulk as Saradoc stepped out into the hallway.

“Mister Oakenshield?”

Thorin stood.

His eyes widened in recognition before narrowing. “It’s you.”

“Yes,” agreed Thorin, refusing to be cowed.

The Master sniffed disdainfully. “Come to try and get permission to enter the forest again, have you?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Saradoc sighed but held the door open for him all the same. A glance behind him showed Bilbo had vanished. Hiding his frown, Thorin stepped inside. 

It was a grand office, a huge mahogany desk standing proudly in the middle of the room, books and papers arranged neatly on its surface. A great round window loomed behind it overlooking the front of the hall, grey light spilling into the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, file cabinets taking their place behind the desk, tasteful nick-knacks and figurines set about artfully. The office gave the impression of being comfortably cluttered at a glance, but on closer inspection everything was unerringly neat, as if someone had taken pains to arrange everything just so.

“You might as well have a seat.” Saradoc came around to his leather chair behind the desk. Thorin took a seat in one of the deep green padded chairs across from him. Folding his hands, he regarded Thorin sternly, disapproval written across his face. His resemblance to his mother was suddenly apparent. “Now, tell me,” he began, “why have you decided to come and disrupt my business hours?”

“That would be me,” offered Bilbo pleasantly, who was suddenly there—sitting in the chair next to Thorin, legs crossed neatly at the ankles.

Saradoc gave a smothered shriek, jumping to his feet and backing away from the desk. “You—!” he spluttered incoherently, eyes narrowed in fury.

“Hallo.” Bilbo gave a little wave, smiling meekly. Thorin tried his hardest to disguise his laugh as a cough, ducking his head.

“Oh, I should have known! Of course you’d have something to do with this, this _trespasser!_ ”

Thorin frowned. “I didn’t—“

“You can never just leave things be, can you?” continued Sardoc, completely ignoring Thorin now. “Always have to poke around in other peoples business!”

Bilbo’s expression drew fixed, the line of his body tensing. “We haven’t come to chit-chat. Pleasant as this is.”

The master scoffed. “Come to cause more trouble, have you? Getting others to do your dirty work—“ he shot a scathing glance at Thorin before turning his attention back to Bilbo, “—I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve sunk so low.”

Bilbo bristled in his seat, spine straightening. “Thorin is here because his family is in danger. I thought you would understand that, if nothing else.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I’m doing what I can.”

“Tell that to my brother,” spat Saradoc, eyes harsh. “And the three that have died this year alone! I’m sure they’d _love_ to hear it.”

Bilbo flinched, his form flickering around the edges. 

“Hey!” Thorin stood, standing a goof foot taller than Saradoc. “Back off,” he growled, staring the other man down.

Scoffing, Saradoc eyed Bilbo distastefully. “Next time leave your bodyguard outside.”

“Charming as always, cousin.”

“You’re dead,” hissed Saradoc, planting his hands in the desk and leaning over it threateningly. “You’re no relation of mine.”

“Being dead does not sever family ties,” said Bilbo casually, gaze steady and cold. “I thought you paid better attention studying your genealogy than that.”

“Remarkable how many of us have died because of you. Why you alone didn’t have the grace to move on and instead cursed us all with your presence is beyond me.”

Bilbo’s eyes flashed. “Yes, well, we can’t all just ignore our problems and hope they go away if we don’t look at them, can we Saradoc?”

“Why _you_ —“

“Ok, calm down,” interrupted Thorin, raising his hands defensively. He met Saradoc’s furious gaze, pushing down his own anger at the man. “The sooner you hear him out the sooner we’ll leave.”

Saradoc stiffened, chest puffing up in rage. “Come to give me a body count for this year, have you?”

“We’re going to stop it,” said Bilbo.

“What? Stop giving predictions for the yearly death toll?” he laughed dryly.

“No. The wraith. We’re going to stop it.”

“You—“ he stared at Bilbo. “Stop it. You’re going to stop that—that—“

“Yes.”

“That’s something you can do?” He asked helplessly. Something in his gaze twitched and his eyes hardened dangerously. “You’re just doing this _now?_ Why haven’t you—“

“It’s the first Halloween in nearly a hundred years that falls on a full moon,” interrupted Bilbo evenly. “That’s why it’s been so bad this year. It can cross over. But we can get at it. It goes both ways.”

“So what,” Saradoc began incredulously, “the full moon means you can stop it? You come here asking for my help—for _my people_ to risk themselves—I _know_ you, I know that’s what you’re after—because it’s a full moon?!” He threw his arms up in exasperation. “That’s possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard from you, and that’s really saying something.”

“Do you want to stop this or not?” asked Bilbo wearily.

“At what cost?!” snapped Saradoc.

“I’ve already spoken with Shirriff Maggot and her people. They’re all for it, and we’ll be doing what we can.”

“Of _course_ you have,” he sneered, “she’s cracked she is to willingly speak with _you._ ”

“Look—I don’t _care_ what you think of me. This isn’t about you or me. This is about the people of Buckland whose _lives_ are in danger.”

“No thanks to you—“

“They are your responsibility!” hissed Bilbo, eyes blazing. “Whether you like it or not.”

“And I refuse to put anymore of them in danger with this plan of yours—I don’t care what it is, you can’t convince me it’s not dangerous!”

“If this works you will never have to deal with the wraith ever again! Isn’t that worth some risk?”

“At the cost of lives? Absolutely not!”

“People are dying anyway.”

“And aren’t you choked up about it.” 

Bilbo shut his eyes, visibly struggling to control himself. “I am not asking.” He met Saradoc’s gaze, eyes hard. “I am telling you. This will happen, with or without your help. Your assistance would be appreciated.”

Silence filled to office for a few moments, tension thick on the air.

“Fuck you,” said Saradoc.

That was enough for Thorin. 

“All right, we’re leaving.” He angled his body in front of Bilbo as if to protect him from anything else the other man would say. “Come on.”

Looking up, Bilbo met his gaze, eyes shuttered and wet. He gave a tense nod, turning and leaving the room, not bothering to walk around the chair, simply phasing through it and the wall. Thorin followed, caching one last glance of Saradoc leaning heavily on his desk, head bent. He shut the door firmly behind him.

The corridor was empty. He made his way to the staircase, the old glossy wood creaking faintly under his boots. The light from the windows had dimmed, sending long, dull shadows across the entryway. He walked briskly by the desk and avoided eye contact with the woman behind it. Pushing open the heavy door he stepped outside, a rush of cool, damp air filling his senses.

It was a relief after the tension and stuffiness of the office. He simply breathed it in for a few moments, slowing his gait to something more relaxed.

He became aware of Bilbo keeping pace with him, pulsing into existence gently at his side. The ghost kept his head down, shoulders slumped.

“Hey,” said Thorin quietly. “Are you all right?”

Bilbo huffed, glancing up at him guiltily. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It wasn’t very professional of me.”

“He wasn’t being very professional himself.”

“Yes, well, I think I rather bring out the worst in him.” A tired smile pulled at his lips. “Thank you for putting up with all of that.”

“What else can I do?”

“Hmm?” Bilbo glanced up at him. “Oh no, you’ve done more than enough for today. Really, having you here has meant the world.”

A warm feeling grew in Thorin’s chest. He subtly puffed up at the praise, pleased to have been of use. “You won’t have to speak with him again, will you?”

“No, no. This should have been enough today. It actually went rather well all things considered,” he said thoughtfully.

Thorin stopped and stared at him. 

“What?” asked Bilbo.

“That went _well?_ ”

He shrugged. “We got to him. He needs to sulk for a bit, but he’ll come around. Rather predictable like that, old Saradoc is. And he knows he will too. That’s part of why he gets so cross.”

Clouds had begun to drift across the sky, hiding the sun once more and casting the woods in a dreary grey light. A gust of wind swept by, something cold and moist carried on it. 

“What else do we need to do?” asked Thorin as they walked across the parking lot. 

“I’ll have to talk with Shirriff Maggot some more, get ourselves sorted.” He clucked his tongue. “We’ll need some way of getting to the Barrow Downs, and quickly, so we’ll have to take the Old Forest path.”

“The Old Forest is dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Very. Especially this time of year. You can drive around it and come in from the south, but then it’s a much longer drive through the Downs. That really would be suicide.”

“What are we looking for in the Barrow Downs?”

“Ah…there’s a, a tomb. Many really. It is a burial site. Only we need one. One tomb in, in particular. It’s…there’s a…ah, we’ll need…” his voice trailed off, his shoulders hunched. He made a frustrated noise, high in his throat, hanging his head. “I’m sorry,” he managed, voice choked.

“It’s all right,” assured Thorin hastily. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the smaller man, hold him until he stopped looking so small and lost. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, anger at his uselessness rushing through him.

Bilbo huffed, rubbing his eyes wearily. “We’ll—we’ll need transportation,” he continued, taking a deep breath and getting himself under control. “Maggot can arrange for jeeps. We’ll have to see who all will come, and if we can get any support from the rest of the Shire, all of that. And we’ll have to have extra protection for the town.”

“You mentioned some kind of event earlier, for Halloween?”

“Yes. Trick-or-treating is out of the question, for obvious reasons. Instead we have big parties, for adults and children. Bofur usually hosts them at his barn, but under the circumstances the town might set something up. Much safer, easier to guard.”

“If I can help with anything—“

Stopping, Bilbo turned and faced him. “You have been. Immensely, Thorin.”

Thorin frowned, eyes tracking over Bilbo’s too pale face. His eyes were dark and bruised. “I’d like to do more,” he said quietly.

Bilbo looked away, biting his lip. “There is one thing I can’t do on my own.” Thorin watched him patiently. “I…I found something,” he confessed, hands worrying at the sleeves of his jacket. “My mother had it tucked away in her possessions. I was stupid enough not to bring it back then, but I think it would help.” He looked up at Thorin. “I can’t really pick things up anymore, so…”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. It’s up in Hobbiton. It’s a bit of a drive, I’m afraid, but if we could get it tomorrow that would be best.”

 

Xxx

 

_In a grand smial set in the highest hill of Hobbiton lived Mad Baggins. He had inherited a vast wealth, but suspicious and distrustful he kept it all to himself, shutting himself away in his beautiful smial and shunning any that came to his door._

_For many long years he hid himself away, coming out less and less. His appearance suffered, slowly turning from handsome to drawn and thin, with dark beady eyes and long grasping fingers. He grew jittery and violent towards all others, lashing out when approached. Mad Baggins, they took to calling him, though never to his face._

_None now would go near the house in the hill, for fear of seeing his terrible eyes watching them or feeling his long spindly fingers curl around their necks._

_One night, five young lads decided they would go up to the hill and give Mad Baggins a scare. It would serve him right for being such a cruel old miser. They crept over the fence and into the garden, seeing the lone light in the study window that always burned long into the early morning._

_The bravest of the boys grabbed a rock and threw it at the window, shattering it. An awful shriek pierced the air, like nails on a chalkboard, raising the hair on their arms in terror at the inhuman sound. Off they ran, scampering over the fence and tearing through the town, not daring to look behind them for fear of seeing Mad Baggins close behind._

_The next morning the residents of the hill awoke to find the door of the very highest smial was standing wide open, creaking ominously in the wind. This was an uncommon enough sight to send them up to investigate. A smear of blood was on the door. The inside of the smial was terrible to behold, broken glass and papers littering the floor like a nest, the smell of wet mold and death thick on the air._

_Old Mad Baggins was nowhere to be seen._

_The young lads were anxious about their involvement, but told no one of what they had done. After all, Mad Baggins had cared for none and had no one who cared for him. He had likely run off in a rage and fallen in a river, never to darken the hill anymore._

_They were proven horribly wrong._

_Not a day later and the boy who had thrown the stone was found dead in a ditch near his home, eyes bulging and hair shocked white from terror. The next day another of the boys was found dead, body laying in a creak, hair white as snow._

_The remaining three boys realized what was happening. Mad Baggins was getting his revenge. Terrified, they confessed their actions to the local shirriff. A search was sent out far and wide to find Mad Baggins. The lads were placed under careful watch so no harm could come to them._

_But it was all in vain._

_Even under watch each new morning shed light on a new tragedy. One boy was found dead in his room staring lifelessly at the wall in terror, though no one had come in or out of the room all night. So were the other two who had gone up to Mad Baggins’ smial the following nights. As soon as all the lads involved were dead, the slew of deaths stopped._

_Try as they might, no trace was ever found of Mad Baggins. Though he never bodily returned to his smial on the hill, he coveted it greedily even after death. It was rendered inhabitable and condemned. Any who tried to move into the grand home were haunted and tormented by cruel glowing eyes and grasping hands that were felt around their necks as the slept and caught on ankles to trip them._

_Mad Baggins would not share his wealth or his home with any. They say he still wanders the hill, lurking by the path to tempt away children at night and snatch up their souls, always hungry for more to steal back to his home at the top of the hill._

 

A frown sat heavy on Thorin’s brow. He put the old paperback down on the table, a collection of old horror stories from the Shire. In front of him were more books he had pulled down from the library shelves, anything that might help him understand what was going on.

This was the third version of the Mad Baggins story he had read. Variations were common, some having Mad Baggins be run out of town only to creep back later for bloody revenge, others having him simply being eccentric and unhinged but only dangerous after death. They all agreed that the smial at the very top of the hill in Hobbiton was haunted. 

Each new telling had left a bad taste in his mouth. It was hard to know how much truth these stories had, if any at all. Whatever truth there was had likely been heavily embellished, blown wildly out of proportion to appeal to a larger audience, or simply changed over time as stories tend to.

Nonetheless, if there was a chance that this Mad Baggins had even a slight connection to Bilbo Baggins, he would look into it. Though the thought of these horrible things being said of _his_ Bilbo was enough to make him want to tear the pages out in fury.

 _Twenty Most Haunted Places in the Shire_ had named the old smial up on the hill as Bag End, the same smial thought to be haunted by Mad Baggins. It matched up with what Gloin had told him. A picture accompanied it, a round green door staring out of the face of the hill, boards nailed to it haphazardly. The windows too were boarded, a great old oak tree stretching spindly arms over the top of the hill. 

And now Bilbo had asked him to come to Hobbiton tomorrow on an errand.

He hadn’t mentioned a location, but Thorin was willing to bet he knew where it was.

The sound of his phone vibrating against the table brought him back to himself. He gave a small groan, stretching the muscles in his back as they protested his hunched position. How many hours had he been here? A quick glance at the windows showed the sky was beginning to darken. It didn’t tell him much, considering it was autumn.

He tapped open his phone, finding a message waiting for him.

 

Dwalin: 5:16PM Oct 29

Thorin. I think you should see this.  
[file attached]

 

Nonplussed, Thorin tapped on the link, waiting for it to load. A heavy feeling of dread began to pool in his stomach. He tried to blame it on the research he had been doing, but years of trusting his gut informed him that wasn’t the source.

It was an image file.

An old, grainy portrait stared back at him, the black and white likely the fault of the camera that had taken the shot. Out of the portrait stared a hauntingly familiar face, framed by light curls and wearing a collared jacket about two hundred years out of date.

His eyes jumped to the caption:

Bilbo Baggins aka Mad Baggins? 5A 3371 – 3402? 

A small blurb was written underneath, clearly an exert from wherever the picture was taken from

_…likely the best historical reference to Mad Baggins. The folk tale originated around the same time and has been linked to strange phenomenon occurring in Buckland during the fall of the same year…_

 

His phone vibrated again, a message appearing across the top of the screen.

Dwalin: 5:17PM Oct29

Any idea why yours looks _exactly_ like this Bilbo? The one who died 200 years ago under suspicious circumstances??

 

Thorn: 5:21PM Oct 29

You wouldn’t believe me.

 

Dwalin: 5:22PM Oct 29

What kind of trouble is he in?

 

Dwalin: 5:22PM Oct 29

Are YOU in trouble?

 

Thorin: 5:23PM Oct 29

It’s complicated

 

Vibrations ran through the phone to his hands, making him jump at the force of it.

[INCOMING CALL – DWALIN]

Cursing, he shoved the phone in his pocket, closing the books and stacking them haphazardly. Getting to his feet, he strode from the library, going as fast as he felt was polite, all the while the phone in his pocket continued to angrily buzz against his leg. 

Shouldering open the door he stepped out into the late afternoon, the sky a stormy grey. Already the streetlights were coming to life, circling around the park like a ritual circle. 

He’d been hoping to avoid this conversation. At least until Halloween was over and they had already dealt with whatever that thing was out in the woods. It was dangerous, and he knew he’d been pushing his luck having Dwalin dig up information for him. But he needed that information. Especially as it seemed to pain Bilbo so very much to speak of it. He’d hoped Dwalin could wait just another few days.

Unfortunately, it seemed Dwalin was not willing to wait that long.

Steeling himself, he lent against the side of the library furthest away from the sidewalk and dug out his phone. It was still vibrating accusingly.

“All right,” sighed Thorin.

He pressed accept.

Dwalin’s angry voice came over before he’d even put the phone to his ear.

“—don’t’ give me that ‘it’s complicated’ shite. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” tried Thorin.

“It’s obviously somethin’ if it’s got ye actin’ like this!”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“Fuck that! Do you want to tell me _why_ I’ve been lookin’ through records of the most bullshite police investigation I’ve ever seen? Or all the mentions of cult and ritual activity from 3402?”

“Look—“

“And what’s this damn ‘reaper’ thing that keeps turning up?! And Mad Baggins—that’s who Bilbo Baggins is supposed to be! He’s the only historical reference for some folksie ghost story down there.”

“Dwalin—“

“Dis said a few days ago you came in from a walk at night lookin’ like you’d seen a ghost. And the ‘incidents’ and disappearances that keep happening down there—what’s goin’ on?! What sort of trouble are you—”

“Dwalin!” barked Thorin. “Can you blame me for not telling you?! The last thing I need is my only damn friend thinking I’m going _mad_ —just like everyone else does!”

“What? Of for—Thorin, _no_ , I don’t think—“

“You know Dain sent Gloin down here to check on me?” growled Thorin, resentment thick on his tongue. “Having Dis and Vili sending him updates wasn’t enough already. What the fuck does he want from me?! Is he trying to get me to snap at someone so he has a solid reason to have me removed?”

“Fuck NO! Laddie, I don’t think you’re mad!”

“Then why are you yelling?!”

“You’re yelling too!”

“You started it!”

“I’m not yelling because I think you’re mad—I’m yelling because I think you’re right!”

That stopped Thorin short. “What?”

“I think you’re right to be suspicious about whatever the hell is going on down there,” came Dwalin’s voice, hoarse with concern. “The more I look at this the worse and worse it gets—how do you think I feel knowing yer in the middle of some haunted backwood town that _might_ be haunted by some bloody wraith? Or is it a murderous cult?” 

“Dwalin,” said Thorin, stomach coiling.

“You’re caught in the middle something that I don’t know how to deal with! I’m scared, all right?! I don’t know how to help you with all this…this _evil_ stuff.”

 

He huffed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to rest against the cold wall of the building behind him. “Yeah, that’s…how I felt. When I found out.”

“What?”

Thorin swallowed heavily, fingers tight where he held his phone. “I almost wished he had been homeless,” he confessed. “Or stuck in some smuggling ring because then, at least, I’d have a chance of helping him. But I’m too late. Never even had a chance.”

Over the phone Dwalin let out a long breath. 

“Bilbo? Is he…?”

“Yeah,” breathed Thorin. “He’s—he’s been dead for a while.”

“Thorin lad. I’m sorry. And for what it’s worth I believe you.” He gave a hollow laugh. “At least I believe there’s some really fucking wild shite going on down there.”

He smiled tiredly. “Thanks.”

“And Thorin, we gotta clear this up. I’m _always_ on yer side. All right? I’m always gonna listen to what you have to say, an even if I don’t understand I’m going to do my damned best to. I’m not gonna give up on you like that.”

Tears sprung to his eyes. “Dwalin…”

“Look,” said Dwalin after a moment, “I know our family means well, but they’re no’ exactly the brightest at showing it, are they? Don’t get the quieter types. Not exactly subtle, are they?”

“No,” he gave a shaky sigh. “No they’re not.”

“Dain doesn’t mean to make a spectacle of you,” continued Dwalin. “But I’ll tell him to shove it if he’s harassing you, see if I don’t. Hell, if it gets too bad I’ll come down there and take you back to my flat myself! Just give the word, laddie.”

Thorin gave a teary laugh, rubbing angrily at his eyes. His hands came back embarrassingly wet. He hated crying. “I know. And thank you. Really, _thank_ you. You know I’ve got your back as well?” he added, a sudden strike of uncertainty going through him. Dwalin had been his best friend for as long as he could remember. Surely he knew how much Thorin cared for him? But then he had never been the best at vocalizing his feelings. What if he didn’t know?

“Don’t be daft now.” Dwalin’s voice cut across his self-reprimanding tirade. “Of course I know. You’ve saved my arse more times than I can count. Always been stupidly loyal, ever since we were tykes.”

A smile stole across his face. “Looks who’s talking.”

“Ach lad.” Dwalin sighed. “They never meant to make you afraid to talk to them. Look, I remember what it was like when Thror started going off. You’re not like that, all right? Not like that at _all_ , and if I thought you were showing signs I’d let you know.”

Thorin swallowed. “But isn’t that what—“

“No. No it’s not. You’re there because no one wants you to work yerself to death. An because our family has always been a bit heavy handed when it comes to extending help.”

He choked on a laugh. “Fuck. Yeah, they, they do that.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“Are you all right down there?” asked Dwalin. “I don’t know what’s happening but I know you’re in trouble.”

“It’s—it’s in hand. I think.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Mahal, I hope. We have a plan.”

“Who’s we?”

“It’s Bilbo’s plan.”

“Ah. And is he…uh…”

“It’s not an alias. That’s him. In the painting, that’s him.”

“Er…right. Fuck, that’s—fuck. Mahal wept, yer dating a ghost! I mean—wow. Fucking _hell_.”

Thorin laughed. “I _know_. I try not to think about it too much.”

“Mahal fucking wept.”

“He has something figured out. I think he knows a way to stop it. The shirriffs around here can see him, they know what’s going on. They’ll help us.”

“Right, er—good. That’s good.”

Both were silent for a while, reeling from their respective revelations.

Dwalin cleared his throat. “Ok. All right, this is a lot to take in. I’m gonna hang up, an’ try to get my head around it.”

“I know it’s a lot. Sorry.”

“No no. I’ll be keeping in touch. Not because I don’t trust you, laddie! Just…fucking hell! Ghosts and shite!”

“I _know_ ,” chuckled Thorin.

“Right. Well, take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess where they're going next chapter??


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** mentions of death, torture, some mild gore and disturbing imagery
> 
> Let me know if I missed anything!

In a show of solidarity, Gloin and Shuli had decided to join the rest of the family for breakfast, even if they were on holiday and didn’t actually need to be up so early. They’d let their son sleep in, as Gimli was more likely to get upset at seeing Fili and Kili go away to school while he had to stay behind.

“Fili!” called Dís, turning her head towards the stairway, “Fili sweetie! You’re going to be late!”

“Fili?” tried Vili.

There wasn’t any response. Dís huffed, stirring in another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Kili, was your brother awake when you came down?”

Kili nodded. “Eee wag awaek,” he said around a mouthful of toast.

“Want me to get him?” asked Vili, standing from the table and bringing his plate over to the counter.

“We’ll give him another few minutes,” said Dis.

Gloin speared a sausage and waved it at them. “He’s a growing boy. He’s at the age where he needs all the sleep he can get.”

“No, he’s an early riser,” Dis said, fingers splayed around her mug, “Kili is our little bed-bug.”

Kili grinned proudly, showing off his missing teeth. 

“Aww, a little bed-bug!” cooed Shuli, reaching over with a beefy hand and ruffling his hair.

Slow footsteps on the stairs announced Fili’s presence to the kitchen. He looked pale, hair messy, clothes sitting untidily on his frame. He muttered a quiet ‘hello’ and slumped in his seat.

“Fili,” said Thorin, watching his nephew closely, “are you all right?”

The boy nodded, looking down at his plate silently.

Dís stood, and pressed a hand to his forehead worriedly. “Are you sick? You’re not warm,” she said after a moment. “Is your tummy upset?”

Fili took a breath. “No. Rollo texted me. He’s not going to school today.”

“Why not?” asked Vili.

“His brother is missing.”

Icy fingers traced down the back of Thorin’s back.

“Missing?” 

Fili nodded, poking at his toast duly. Kili watched his brother across the table with wide eyes, his own breakfast abandoned.

“I see,” said Dis slowly. She glanced over at Gloin. “They’ll have the shirriffs out looking for him.”

“That’s right!” added Gloin hastily, “shirriffs are experts at finding lost folks. They won’t stop until the lad is found, mark my words.”

“Really?” asked Fili, looking first at Gloin and then over at Thorin for assurance

Thorin nodded, thinking with a pang that this boy had likely had a run-in with the wraith. “The shirriffs will do all that they can to find him.” 

What state they would find him in was a different story.

The assurance was enough to get Fili to eat his breakfast, and soon the two boys were heading back upstairs, Kili tugging his brother along by the hand protectively. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Gloin leaned forward in his chair, face tense. “I don’t mean to worry you,” he started lowly, “but I think you should know there’s been some odd happenings around the Shire. Disappearances, accidents…even a few deaths. More than usual. There’s been over eight cases this month.”

“I’ve heard of a few,” said Dis slowly, fingers worrying her mug. “A woman I work with has a daughter. They found her in her car one night off the side of the road. They don’t know what happened, but she’s not waking up.”

Vili made a concerned sound. “It’s not—there’s not some serial killer out there, is there?”

“No, no,” assured Shuli quickly. She met her husband’s gaze. “It’s something else.”

“No one’s had a mark on them,” admitted Gloin, “it’s as if they’ve been scared stiff and had a bad shock. Frostbite and cranial trauma on some, but no sign of a weapon used or inflicted injuries. We don’t even have any suspects.”

“I’ve heard some rumors as well,” said Thorin. Everyone jumped as if they had forgotten he was there. He cleared his throat self-consciously. He’d been wanting to tell Dís about the potential danger they were facing, but what could he say that they would believe?

What could he say that wouldn’t have his overprotective family landing him with a permanent holiday from work and a psychiatrist?

“The Buckland shirriffs are aware of the situation.” He licked his lips nervously, aware of their undivided attention. “They’re taking precautions.”

“Been talking to them, have you, laddie?” asked Gloin.

He smiled thinly, defenses rising. “A little.”

Dís raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “You’re supposed to be on vacation,” she said sternly. Then she sighed, a wry smile pulling at her lips. “But, if there really _is_ something going on here, I couldn’t expect you to just ignore it. Must be built in at this point to find these things out.”

“The town has something organized for Halloween, don’t they?” he prompted, trying to turn the subject back to the matter at hand. 

“Yes, some kind of party,” said Vili, “with supervision and games for the kids.”

“I’d recommend going. They’ll be able to keep an eye on everyone and try to sort it out then.”

Gloin grunted in approval. “Much safer that way. But in the meanwhile, it’s best to be careful.”

“Aye, keep an extra eye on the kids,” nodded Shuli. “We’ll help with that.”

“Thank you,” agreed Dís. Vili nodded gravely.

“And don’t be out late in the woods,” added Thorin.

 

Xxx

 

Halfway across the Shire, Bilbo joined him in the car, softly fading into place in the passenger seat at Thorin’s side. Currently they were crossing through a small town called Frogmorton, small strip plazas and farmers fields rolling by in a lazy blur of colour.

“Hullo,” greeted the ghost, giving a small smile. “Didn’t scare you this time, did I?”

“You’ll have to try harder,” said Thorin, glancing over, “and I wasn’t scared last time.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “No? You must have jumped about a foot.”

“Was surprised, was all,” sniffed Thorin. 

“Ah, I see.” A smirk crossed his face. “One of your detective instincts. Fight not flight, all of that.”

“Yeah. That, of course.”

The ghost sighed theatrically, leaning back in his seat. He side-eyed him. “And here I thought you were just happy to see me.”

Thorin gave a surprised bark of laughter, glancing at him askance. He felt a blush begin to spread across his face.

“Some people do find ghosts to be _exciting_ , you know,” continued Bilbo innocently, trying to hide his grin.

Thorin blinked. “What? Really?” He asked, morbidly fascinated. “People are _attracted_ to ghosts?” His eyes widened in realization of what he’d just said and he backpedaled hastily. “Not that I don’t find you to be—or that I’m—you’re very—“

Bilbo was laughing, eyes bright. “Why, my dear detective! I’m flattered, really.”

“I’m going to stop talking,” groaned Thorin, fighting the urge to burry his face in his hands.

“It’s all right,” offered Bilbo kindly, grinning.

“Bilbo, stop,” pleaded Thorin, chuckling, face beat red. “I’m _driving_.”

“Oh it’s only a country road,” he grinned. “No one to hear you scream,” he added lowly, waggling his eyebrows.

“Bilbo!”

“All right, all right! I’ll behave.”

The small towns passed by, everything a bright rush of crackling fields and long rows of hay bales. Occasionally the road took them through a more populated area, most buildings remaining small and softly sloped, nearly blending in with the hills and gentle dips of the landscape.

It was a peaceful drive. The treacherous woods of Buckland seemed far away, the sky wide and grey and open out here. It was almost enough that Thorin could forget for a while why they were here. He could imagine, just for a time, that he was simply enjoying a nice drive with his charming boyfriend, carefree and happy, simply to see whatever sights the Shire had to offer.

But Thorin had never been in the habit of lying to himself. Realism was an asset in his profession, and though he strove to keep an open mind he stuck to what he knew first and foremost. It wouldn’t do to loose himself in impossibilities. It only made the inevitable that much more painful when it came.

Maybe though, it wouldn’t hurt just for now to indulge.

They came to a stop at a rare light, only one pickup truck in front of them. It was a long winding road, and he watched as a few cars lazily passed by the cross road ahead of them.

“Look!” exclaimed Bilbo suddenly, pointing out his window.

“What?”

A few cows were grazing by the fence close to the side of the road, just a few feet away from the car. One of them raised its soft nose curiously, lifting its head over the top of the wooden fence. Its nostrils widened as it leaned towards the car.

“Well _hello_ there, gorgeous,” cooed Bilbo, his window suddenly rolled down. He leaned out of it haphazardly and stretched his had towards the cow, wriggling his fingers invitingly. It huffed softly, tail flicking behind it as it quested closer.

“Careful,” warned Thorin, as Bilbo hoisted himself further out he window.

“Or what? I’m going to fall and hurt myself?”

“Er—good point.”

“Aren’t you a good girl? Yes you are! What a _lovely_ big girl you are!”

“They’re not afraid of you?” wondered Thorin. All the movies he had ever seen with ghosts usually had dogs snarling and horses darting away in wide-eyed fear. But then he’d never seen a film where the ghost started dating an out of town detective, so really there wasn’t much point in putting stock in them.

“No,” came Bilbo’s voice from where he was hanging out the window, “animals never have been, I’m pleased to say.”

“All right, come on, light’s changing.”

“Ooh, that dratted thing.”

Even though he knew Bilbo couldn’t come to any harm, he still waited until he was safely back inside before continuing down the road. The cows _mooed_ after them, Bilbo waving goodbye sadly. 

He sat back in his seat with a sigh, only then noticing Thorin was watching him.

“What?”

Thorin hid a fond smile in the collar of his jacket. “Nothing.”

Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms. He looked at him pointedly, raising a sly eyebrow. “I’ve never met a big furry creature that didn’t enjoy being pet, you know.”

Thorin choked, nearly swerving.

“Sorry,” said Bilbo, grinning, clearly not sorry at all.

“Menace. You are a menace.”

“I’ve said, it comes with the occupation.”

 

Xxx

 

The closer to Hobbiton they got the quieter Bilbo became, slowly drawing into himself and closing off. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he took him in carefully. Bilbo looked tired, face pale and drawn, resting his head lightly against the car window.

“Are you all right?” asked Thorin, eyes flitting back to the road. 

Bilbo sighed, drooping in his seat. “M’ all right. Had a rough night.”

“If you don’t feel up to this—“

“—I _have_ to.” Bilbo’s eyes flashed, shoulders setting into a stubborn line. After a moment he softened. “I want to.”

“Ok,” agreed Thorin after a moment. 

If things got bad, they would leave. He wouldn’t put Bilbo through any more pressure than he was already under—which was far too much and he suspected it had been for two-hundred years too long. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“Anyway, enough about me.” Bilbo rubbed his face tiredly. “How are things with you? Is your family still giving you a hard time?”

Thorin hummed, thinking it over. “Things are better. My cousin Dwalin is on my side.” He thought it might be better not to mention that he’d had Dwalin dig up any information on ‘Bilbo Baggins’. Might be best to save that conversation for another day. One when Bilbo didn’t look so wrung out.

“That’s good. Right?”

He made a noise in agreement. “Gloin thinks there’s something going on in the Shire,” he said carefully.

“He’s a shirriff, isn’t he?”

“From Michel Delving, yeah.”

Bilbo hummed, looking out the window at the grey sky. “I suppose he’s heard the rumors then.”

“It’s hard not to at this point.”

“What does he think?”

“He thinks something’s going on. I know he’s heard some of the gossip from Michel Delving and the shirriffs there. Apparently Buckland is some kind of hot spot for odd things. There’s been talk that this year is particularly bad for accidents and disappearances.”

“They wouldn’t be wrong.” Bilbo sighed, shutting his eyes. “With any luck, this will be the last year. Let’s just hope it doesn’t go out with a bang.”

They drove in silence for a while.

“You can tell them, you know.”

He looked over at Bilbo curiously. “Tell them what?”

“About me. About all of this. It’s your family. They’re in danger just as much as anyone in Buckland. Maybe even more with how close they are to the forest gate.”

“I…” Thorin struggled to put it into words. “I’ve told them I’ve spoken with the Buckland shirriffs.” He sighed, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “My grandfather, he—there’s a sickness that runs in my family. A sickness of the mind, they called it.”

He could feel Bilbo’s eyes on him. He swallowed. “It was only after my grandmother died that we really noticed anything was wrong. At first we thought it was just grieving. But it got worse and worse, this obsession with work, paranoia, chasing after leads that weren’t there. We tried—we did what we could. I was still very young at the time. I had almost graduated high school when he—he was found.”

“Thorin...” Bilbo’s voice was soft and so sad. He took a deep breath.

“The, the thing is, my father started showing some signs of it as well. We’re doing what we can, getting him whatever professional help there is, but…”

Bilbo made a soft sound. “Your family thinks it’s happening to you as well.”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the road. “Yes, and…telling them, any of, of all of this—” he shook his head. “Some days I can hardly believe it myself. What would they think if I told them there’s some bloody wraith in the woods trying to suck the life out of everyone?”

“I’m so sorry.” 

He did turn to look at Bilbo then. 

“It’s not your fault, Bilbo.”

“It’s an awful thing to feel, that you can’t trust anyone...” The ghost twisted his fingers in the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry you’ve been going through that this whole time.”

If anyone would understand, perhaps it would be _Mad Baggins_. Thorin filled that information away for later. “You did throw me for a loop at first, I’ll admit,” he said. “But you’ve been wonderful at holding me together as well.”

“If it helps,” began Bilbo slowly, “I can show myself. To your family, I mean. I doubt they’d blame it on mass hallucination. Might have to pass through a few walls before they believe me, though….”

Thorin laughed. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. But thank you for the offer.”

 

Xxx

Hobbiton was quieter than Michel Delving. Green rolling hills passed by, dotted with buildings and large trees. The roads turned from tarmac to packed earth the further they drove, large light posts replaced with older, ornate ones. Hobbiton was considered a heritage site and it showed, the majority of buildings rarely reaching a second floor, traditional sloped architecture abundant. Round doors peered out of the hills, neat little gardens and clotheslines strung with laundry decorating the landscape.

Bilbo made a small noise beside him, watching the town roll by. “Funny. It really hasn’t changed much at all.”

“You lived here.”

“I did, yes. Turn left, we want The Hill.” He cast Thorin a sideways glance. “I supposed you’ve already figured that out, haven’t you?”

He shifted in his seat guiltily. “I have a theory,” he admitted.

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” Bilbo gave a small smile. “Thank you for being so patient.”

They drove slowly up the Hill, the soft dirt road meandering along the grassy lanes. Smials dotted the sides of the hill, colourful gardens and wildflowers dotting the landscape. 

“Here, park in that yard over there.”

“Just there?”

“Most people don’t like driving any higher.”

The small yard Thorin had parked in was about two thirds of the way up. The grass looked flattened, as if it were commonly used as a parking spot. He got out of the car, Bilbo drifting through the door on his side to join him.

“What about the people who live in the smials near the top?”

“Oh, no one lives on Bagshot row.”

“Really?” 

“I—ah. You know, the area has a bit of a reputation these days.” Bilbo sniffed. “Shame really. It’s a lovely bit of land. Though I may be a tad biased.”

They started up the road on foot, the wind whistling by, dirt quiet under Thorin’s boots. The sky stretched huge and wide from the Hill, Hobbiton spread out below them in a lazy sprawl of gentle slopes painted in the reds and golds of autumn.

“It’s for the best, really,” remarked Bilbo after a while. “All sorts of thrill-seekers and investigators come up this way this time of year. Poking their noses in where they’ve no right to, breaking and entering, making an awful fuss of things.” He wrinkled his nose distastefully. “Would be an dreadful bother to deal with that lot tramping through your backyard.”

“I can imagine.”

It was quiet this far up, the sounds of the town below muted, snatched of sound drifting by on the wind. Atop the hill stood the old oak tree he had seen in the picture, grey and bare of all leaves, but still standing proudly above the hill, limbs spread wide to meet the sky.

And there was Bag End; the hole at the very top of the hill with a round green door and a little garden gate. The windows and door were boarded shut, and sunk into he ground before the gate was a large sign reading NO TRESPASSING in stern letters.

“Bag End,” said Bilbo simply. “Home sweet home.”

A child’s laugh caught on the wind, dead leaves dragging across the path and against his ankles.

“Well, you’d best come in, then.” A smile danced in Bilbo’s eyes. “I promise I won’t curse you if you do.”

Thorin huffed. “Very kind of you.”

With a glance at his companion, he unlatched the low gate, surprised to find it opening easily under his touch. 

“It’s not that I don’t like company, you understand,” explained Bilbo, walking into the yard, “it’s just that I prefer to have invited them myself before they barge in and make a mess of things.”

He made a noise of agreement, respectfully closing the gate behind him. “Fair enough.”

“Thank you. I’m sure you’ve heard all sorts of ghastly things,” continued the ghost, stopping to tut at the overrun garden, “they are grossly exaggerated, I assure you.”

They both stopped in front of the boarded up door. 

Thorin flexed his hands, calculating how best to get the boards down. “I might have a crowbar in the trunk if—“ 

The door creaked open, headless of the boards and heavy lock that had held it in place only a moment ago. 

Bilbo cleared his throat defensively and stuck out his chin. “It’s my home. I have a bit of a connection to it, of sorts.”

Thorin stared at the open door dumbly for a few seconds and then did the same to the ghost. “You’re amazing,” he said finally, giving his head a small shake.

Blushing, Bilbo turned and busied himself with opening the door further. He cleared his throat and gestured grandly. “Welcome to Bag End. Or, well, what’s left of it, anyway.”

It opened into a long, dark hallway, rich wood paneling lining the walls. Thorin had to duck his head just slightly under the rounded door frame to get inside, the smial clearly built for those with shorter statures than his own. There was a musty smell to the place, like something old and sleepy, a faint earthy scent drifting down from further within. The light that filtered in past the boarded windows was grey and gloomy, faint dust motes drifting lazily in the air.

He gently ran a hand along the dark wood paneling. “This is good craftsmanship,” he said, feeling the smoothness of the curved wood.

“Thank you.” Bilbo smiled, something grateful in his eyes. 

He followed the ghost further into his home, his footsteps muffled, and odd hush laying over everything. If Bilbo hadn’t been there he would have felt as if he were intruding, walking through a place that slumbered, dreams and memories thick on the air. 

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you any tea,” said Bilbo as they passed what must have been the kitchen from the old stove set over by the far wall. “Terribly rude, really—though I don’t suppose people do that as much as they used to these days.”

He hummed, trying to imagine what this place must have looked like. “A shame. I’d be honoured to have tea with you.”

Turning, Bilbo beamed at him. “And I’d be absolutely delighted to have you for it. I’d set out my mother’s best china and a blackberry crumble.” He brought a hand to his face, eyes distant. “Oh dear, I think your fingers would be a mite too big to hold a teacup properly.”

“There’s a way to hold them improperly?” asked Thorin, curious.

Bilbo stared at him. He shook his head and _tutted_. “Gracious, I’ll have to show you some time.”

The hallways were long and winding, and soon Thorin found himself thoroughly confused about where they had come from. His companion had no such problem, leading him unfaltering through the darkened smial towards wherever it was he was going.

“What are we looking for?” asked Thorin, peering into a room with the door ajar. He could just make out the edges of a shelf of some kind out of the gloom.

“A glass. It’s small. I know where it is.”

At the end of the hall was a door, flowers carved whimsically around the frame. It opened with a brush of ghostly fingers, light from a window inside filling the room with a grey light. He stepped inside, Thorin following. 

It was a bedroom, most of the furniture gone save for an old wooden bed frame and a clunky chest in one corner. An empty fireplace was over by one wall, the same flower pattern trailing lazily around the mantel. Bilbo walked around the bed frame, kneeling down close to the wall. He felt the wooden floorboards with his fingers carefully. Thorin crouched down and frowned, watching his movements carefully. 

“Can you help me with this?” Bilbo looked up at him imploringly. “Just press down on this bit.”

“Here?”

“That’s it.”

The floorboard moved, exposing a dark space underneath the floor.

“Down there.” Bilbo nodded at the hole. “Don’t worry, nothing will bite you.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Thorin, carefully reaching down into the opening. It was damp and dank and much further to the bottom than he had imagined. 

“I can feel energy. That includes living creatures, Thorin. There’s nothing down there.”

“So, you’re like an, an infrared detector?”

“…Sorry?”

“Er, you can see heat?” Grimacing, he lent forward and lowered his arm past the elbow down. His fingers scraped against cold dirt.

“Something like that.”

He grinned. “Like a fly.”

“ _Not_ like a fly.”

“I don’t know. They’re small, fast, come out of nowhere and prey off of lost foreigners.”

Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms. “You’re going to get bitten if you keep that up, Mister!” 

His fingers closed around something small wrapped in a cloth. “Hang on.” Carefully he pulled it up, the sleeve of his coat catching briefly on the rough side of the floorboards.

“That’s it!”

Sitting back, he put the small bundle down on the floor between them, meeting Bilbo’s eyes. At his nod, he unwrapped it.

It was a small glass vial.

“What is it?”

“Pick it up.”

It was strangely warm to the touch. There was a clear liquid inside that glimmered in the faint light from the window. It was mesmerizing to look upon.

“My mother had some strange friends,” said Bilbo, eyes on the vial. “This came to her from a particularly strange one. She used to say that if you held it and thought of something that made you happy it would light.”

Thorin looked down at it thoughtfully. It fit his hand perfectly. “Something that makes me happy,” he murmured, eyes lifting to Bilbo’s face.

A warm light spilled out of the vial, painting the walls of the room in its comforting glow. 

Bilbo made a soft noise of wonder. “Oh. I’d forgotten what it looked like.”

“This must be old magic,” marveled Thorin, lifting his hand higher and casting more of the room in its glow.

“Very old,” agreed Bilbo. “And powerful. I can tell that much. I’d like you to hold onto it.”

Thorin nodded, the reason for their visit here springing back to the forefront of his mind. He lowered his hand. “I imagine it will come in handy.”

Bilbo sent him a sad little smile, and the light slowly tapered out. Thorin wrapped it back in the cloth and carefully stowed it in an inner pocket of his coat.

They walked out of the room, the ghost leading him back the way they had come. This time Bilbo took him to what must have been a sitting room, darkened corridors branching off of on two sides.

“Er.” Bilbo ran a hand through his curls, avoiding Thorin’s gaze. “Probably as good a place as any,” he muttered, walking inside. A large window offered more light to the room, a faint draft of cold air sweeping through from outside.

Thorin followed him a few paces only to stop at the prickling sensation of something watching him. He glanced behind himself and froze, eyes fixed on something hanging on the wall.

“Oh, that old thing,” said Bilbo hurriedly, following his gaze. “I don’t know why I had it done. My cousins urged me to, really. Thought it was silly at the time, but everyone was getting them. Everyone was starting families so they had reasons to, but I—I suppose they were being kind in not wanting me to be left out,” he rambled, watching Thorin anxiously. “Seems silly now. I can’t remember who hung it here. It was after I had—after…” he trailed off self-consciously.

Thorin stared transfixed at the portrait, and Bilbo’s eyes stared back at him from the canvas. It was the same picture that Dwalin had sent him. 

_…The Portrait of Mad Baggins…_

He wandered closer, unable to look away. Haunted. Bilbo’s eyes were haunted as they stared out at him.

“I don’t know why it looks that way,” confessed Bilbo behind him quietly. “I remember smiling, at least a little. The style was to be dignified, but it didn’t look quite so…oh, I don’t know…” he finished wretchedly.

Finally Thorin managed to tear his gaze away, finding the real Bilbo pale and unsure next to him. “I’m sorry,” he heard himself say. He didn’t know for what exactly he was apologizing for, but Bilbo seemed to understand all the same and nodded gratefully.

“Thorin, I…I want to…” he sighed, crossing his arms over his stomach. “Won’t you have a seat?”

“Of course,” said Thorin carefully. He looked about for a place to sit. There wasn’t much in the room. An old threadbare rug. Cracked pieces of glass and pottery littered the floor leading into the next room over, housing the vague outline of a table he could just make out through the gloom. 

“Sorry there’s nothing to sit on,” Bilbo said quietly, looking down at the floor. He nudged a long scrape mark in the floorboards with his foot.

“Bilbo, it’s ok.” 

He sat down on the floor with his back against the wall, facing away from the portrait. Bilbo joined him, sinking down at his side and drawing his legs to his chest. He was shaking just slightly.

“Is this all right?” his voice was small and hesitant. “I want to tell you, but I don’t…don’t think I can manage eye contact.”

“Of course,” assured Thorin, nudging his foot towards Bilbo’s. “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

Bilbo nodded, biting his lip. “You’re very kind.”

“So are you.”

He took a breath, visibly trying to steady himself. “All right,” he breathed, shutting his eyes. “…I was always fond of my cousin Drogo. Then he went and married Primula, a good friend of mine, and, well, needless to say I saw the young couple an awful lot. When they had a child I was so excited for them.”

It was quiet here in the smial, and so still. Thorin distantly realized he’d expected it to be dustier or full of cobwebs, but it wasn’t. He placed his hand palm down on the floor, just shy of touching Bilbo’s leg.

“I’d never expected to marry, or have children. You, you know my tastes Thorin.” He smiled weakly, looking over at him. “You see it every day when you look in the mirror.”

Thorin huffed, giving into the desire for contact and nudging Bilbo with his foot. It went through of course, but it gave them both some comfort.

Bilbo looked down at the floor again, resting his head on his folded arms. “With a large family I knew I’d never be in want of children of my own. You’d see large broods of them all over, at the market, running amok in the fields, just everywhere. It was impossible to go to a party without someone shoving a child at you for ‘just a moment’ before they’d run off for a few minutes of freedom. But when Drogo and Primula had little Frodo I felt something different.”

The ghost huffed a laugh. “They named me godfather, you know? I was so proud. Frodo was twelve that fall when they left on a trip. Wanted some time to themselves and they were always fond of fishing. So they left him at the Hall to stay with his Brandybuck relations while they were away. That’s when…when things started to happen.”

“Do you need to stop?” asked Thorin softly, when Bilbo fell silent.

“Sorry, no, I—I’d rather get it over,” he cleared his throat. “There were—four. Four children went missing that fall.” Bilbo’s foot was rubbing absently against the floor, a nervous motion. “First was one of one of the young Brandybuck boys, then a few days later one of the little Took girls. Kidnapping isn’t—“ he made a small noise. “These things don’t really happen in the Shire. If they do, they’re rare and everyone is up in arms about it. At first everyone thought they’d just run off, but…” he took a steadying breath. “Then the, the last two were taken together. A Boffin girl and—and Frodo with her.”

Outside a dog was barking, the sound carrying up the hill on the wind.

“There were, ah…signs of a, a struggle,” continued Bilbo after a long moment. “That got people’s attention. I hurried over to Buckland as soon as I heard. Word had been sent to Primula and Drogo of course, but in those days it took much longer to get news around, and they had traveled just north of Bree.” He swallowed, hands shaking slightly from where they were clenched in the fabric of his jacket. “At least that’s what I—what I told myself. What we all said.” He let out a shaky breath. Thorin inched closer. 

“The message had never been sent.”

Thorin’s eyebrows raised. “What?”

“I…I know I wasn’t the only one getting short with the shirriffs. As Godfather I had stepped in with some of Frodo’s other relatives to speak with the shirriffs and see what was being done. It wasn’t until later that I—realized...”

An inside man.

“The shirriffs were in on it,” breathed Thorin. That would explain the farce of an investigation.

Bilbo let out a shaky breath and gave a nod. “See I—I couldn’t just stand around. I had this, this feeling something was wrong. More than it should have been. Four children all going missing within a few days of each other—something was happening. Took to hanging around pubs at night, trying to listen in to what was being said. Overheard some interesting things. I’ve always been quiet, it wasn’t hard to tail certain people...find out some things.”

“They’d been taken by a group. Occultists of some kind, dabbling in, in dark magic. They’d come to the area for the Barrow Downs and the legends there. They wanted to see the old magics.” He let out a shaky breath. “Wanted to wake them up, the—the dead ones. Powerful beings are buried there, their souls old and angry. Hungry.”

“And the children?” asked Thorin quietly. He felt he already knew the answer.

A soft sound left Bilbo’s mouth. “P-part of the—the ritual.” He took a few long moments to steady himself, breathing deeply with his head in his arms. Thorin sat beside him, trying to offer what comfort he could as his mind worked everything into place.

“Once I realized what was—was intended, I went to the shirriffs. I had names, I suspected a place, and I knew it was only two days away from when it would have to be…for the ritual. It—” Bilbo wiped at his eyes angrily. “It didn’t go well.”

Thorin’s hands were so tightly clenched his nails were digging painfully into his palm. It was grounding, kept him focused, kept him from wanting to hunt down whichever scum it was that had turned a blind eye to the kidnapping of children.

“I realized almost as soon as I had told him that he was in on it, the—the shirriff I spoke with. Recognized his name even, had heard, heard _them_ mention it. He threatened me, threw me out of the office. That’s when the—the rumors started.” He sniffed. “About me. That I, I had cracked, gone, gone _mad_ ,” he laughed bitterly, curling in on himself. “I think they even tried to pin the kidnapping on me, but they had no evidence.”

Thorin swore, loud and long in his native tongue. His hands shook with barely suppressed rage. _How dare they?!_ Bilbo huffed a weak laugh beside him, leaning closer.

“There wouldn’t be any help from the shirriffs,” he continued shakily. “And no one would believe me, mad as I was. So I…I went myself. I knew enough about what they were planning, I found the house where they’d been…”

He stared at a patch of floor, listening to Bilbo’s harsh breathing beside him and wishing, just wishing that he had been there when Bilbo needed him most.

“…I got them out.” His voice was soft, half muffled from where his head was buried in his arms. “There was a, a window. In the cellar. It was small. I got them out. Got my Frodo out, but I…I couldn’t—” he keened wordlessly, curling up even smaller.

Bilbo hadn’t made it out.

He’d been caught.

“Hey, hey, easy,” soothed Thorin, trying to calm him. He was feeling very far from calm himself. It was only Bilbo’s clear distress that stopped his own emotions from boiling over. 

“Were the children all right? You said Frodo lived a long and happy life,” he tried to bring the subject back around to something less distressing.

“Y-yes. Yes they, they made it back ok.” Bilbo sniffled, raising his head slightly from his arms. “I’m sure the, the shirriffs weren’t too happy to see them. But their, their _friends_ doing the dirty work were still busy, and they’d never have the guts to do anything like that themselves,” he hissed, eyes narrowing in anger. “There were at least two of them, two shirriffs who were directly involved. The rest didn’t care to see what was happening. It must have been bribery,” he continued angrily, sniffing. “They’d offered him something for his cooperation. Power? Money?” he scoffed harshly, shaking his head. “I don’t know what they thought they’d gain by bringing that, that _thing_ back into our world. But they were willing to kill for it, and stupid enough to think it was worth it.”

“AT THE COST OF WHAT?! THE BLOOD OF CHILDREN!” he screeched. 

_CRACK_

Thorin jumped back, the glass in the windows splintering and near shattering right down the middle. He turned back to Bilbo and blanched at what he saw.

The ghost’s eyes were glowing violently, the colour washing out of him until he looked like a glowing black and white projection, static and crackling around the edges. He was furious.

“Bilbo,” tried Thorin slowly. 

Energy pulsed through the room, muffling all sound, the temperature dropping dramatically. His breath misted out in front of him, the hair on his arms standing, his instincts screaming at him to run. 

“Bilbo,” he said again gently. “Hey, hey. It’s all right.”

Those eyes turned on him. He felt a moment of deep primal terror as he was caught in their sightless, furious gaze—and then Bilbo dimmed, slumping in exhaustion and misery. His head drooped, eyes shutting. 

Everything _shuddered_ and released and went still.

Thorin sucked in a breath, feeling as if some great weight had suddenly been lifted, the air clearer and warmer. The sounds from outside started up again, as if they’d been muffled somehow by some great shadow.

“I—I’m so sorry…”

Dropping to his knees, Thorin crawled over to the small being hunched in on himself, small sobs wracking his frame. Bilbo was crying bitterly, head in his arms, fingers gripped harshly in his hair. 

“Hey, hey, no, don’t do that...” he soothed.

He reached out and tried to grasp Bilbo’s shoulder, desperate to offer whatever comfort he could. His hand went right through, but there was that odd feeling again, like touching a warm, tingling cloud, something nearly substantial. Bilbo gasped at the touch, peeking up at him before dissolving into tears again, leaning towards him.

“It’s all right, you’re all right,” muttered Thorin as he scooted closer, wishing bitterly he could take the smaller man in his arms. “I’m here with you, Bilbo.”

“Oh Thorin…” Bilbo wiped his face against his folded arms and braved looking up at him. His eyes were wide and pained, his form still flickering unsteadily around the edges. “Thorin, that’s just it,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m not. I’m _not_. I’m not here. Not really. I…never—never got home. I’m still _there_ , Thorin, in that awful place.”

“Bilbo…easy.”

“It was so dark. So dark and cold. They were so angry. They—they couldn’t complete the ritual, not, not as they wanted to, they needed the f-full sacrifice. But they only had m-me and they were desperate so, so they—they settled for only bringing part of it over. They _hurt_ me, oh Thorin, it—it hurt so much! I-I couldn’t…” He sobbed, covering his face with his hands. All the light in the room seems to shrink, an icy chill running down his back.

_Shit shit shit!_

Hadn’t Bilbo said thinking about his death could cause him to get stuck in it? To _relive_ it, even? 

“Hey, hey—no! Bilbo, no. Calm down.” He reached out, desperate to pull him back from whatever dark memories assailed him, to comfort him as best he could. But his hand simply went right through again. He cursed violently, sick of being useless.

“It was so cold and dark—they were so _cruel_.” The ghost was flickering. He was visibly shaking, curling in on himself, voice catching horribly. “It didn’t mater how much I screamed t-they wouldn’t stop, and, and then…then _it_ came, and it, oh, it _burned…_ ”

“Bilbo no! Please, look at me!” he pleaded, trying to bring him back.

He lifted his face.

Thorin sucked in a sharp breath. 

Blood ran from his eyes, from his lips, dark bruises littering his face. Bilbo looked through him, past him, unseeing, body shaking uncontrollably.

Gritting his teeth he reached out, trying to touch him, to help him somehow. His hands met resistance, the ghost suddenly bright and glowing, flickering violently like an old film reel damaged and distorted beyond recognition.

“Bilbo! BILBO!”

A soundless scream ripped through the air, everything was shaking, twisting, Bilbo glowing so brightly—

Everything stopped.

And Thorin was alone in the old abandoned room.

_THUD_

He whirled at the noise, heart in his throat.

Bilbo’s portrait had fallen off its hook. It landed half propped up against the wall, tilted so he could just make out the figure depicted. 

Dark splotches of ink were slowly spreading from his eyes, staining the canvas. Thorin hurried over to it, picking it up with shaking hands. The blotches of ink continued to grow. A horrible sickly feeling of dread uncurled in his stomach at the sight.

“No,” he whispered, whipping the ink away with his thumb. It smudged across the canvas, further blurring Bilbo’s face. “ _No_.” He pressed harder, his hands shaking and his eyes burning. The ink had turned a dark red now, far more of it than should have been possible bleeding out, sticky and thick. Warm. 

Like blood.

Horror and nausea filled him, a sickening lurch twisting in his stomach. 

_No_

He stared down at the painting in despair. Bilbo’s face was completely covered with dark red ink, still oozing lazily from the canvas.

Letting out a harsh breath he dropped to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut in denial. The portrait fell from nerveless fingers, softly clattering to the floor.

_No_

That would not happen to Bilbo. He would not let it.

 _You’re too late_ , whispered a voice in his ear, _you can’t save him._

“You’re wrong,” he snarled, hands clenching. His fingers were sticky. “I’m going to save him! Once the wraith is gone—“

_Then what?_

He sucked in a breath.

If they were so deeply tied together…

If whatever dark magic kept the wraith into this world kept Bilbo tethered as well…

What would happen…

“ _No,_ ” growled Thorin, tears springing to his eyes. “I won’t let that happen!”

Faint laughter sounded in his ears, taunting, mocking.

“I won’t leave him,” he vowed in the empty stillness of the broken smial.

Taking a deep breath he shut his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. He was no good to anyone like this. Once his heart had slowed he opened them again, grounding himself from where he was kneeling on the cold floorboards of the empty sitting room.

With a sigh he reached for the portrait, bracing himself for the dreadful sight of it. He tilted it up.

Bilbo stared back at him from the canvas, just as he had been when Thorin had walked into the smial. 

He blinked and rubbed a hand across his face harshly. His fingers were dry and clean of any ink, and Bilbo watched him with sad, knowing eyes, unmarred and pale.

He let out a slow breath, some of the tension seeping from his shoulders.

He’d take it as a sign.

Carefully he hung the portrait back up on its hook, tracing the frame reverently before backing away. Giving one last sweep of the smial he made his way out, closing the door behind him. His hands lingered on the faded green wood of the round door, and he found himself wishing with a sudden fierceness that he had been alive then, two hundred years ago. That he had been there for Bilbo, had been able to help when he needed it most.

Had made sure he’d gotten home.

The sky was beginning to darken when he climbed back into the car, the glass vial tucked safely away in his jacket pocket. 

There was a slow breath beside him.

“I’m sorry.”

His hands froze on the steering wheel, then tightened.

“No.” 

Bilbo was sitting in the passenger seat, pale and grey, resting his weight against the car door. It was just possible to make out the back of the seat through him. He looked exhausted. “No. _I’m_ sorry, Bilbo. None of that should have ever happened to you.”

A weak smile pulled at his lips. “It’s my fault this all happened in the first place.”

“It’s the _shirriff’s_ fault for being a corrupt bastard!” growled Thorin, his anger at the unknown man who had condemned four children to death and sealed Bilbo’s fate flaring up. If only he had been there and had gotten his hands on the piece of filth—

Bilbo slumped, some of the tension leaving his frame. He peeked over at Thorin, something nervous and unsure in his gaze. “If I hadn’t been caught…” he began hesitantly.

“No,” said Thorin firmly, cutting him off. “You did _nothing_ wrong. It would have been so much worse if you hadn’t done what you did. Do _not_ blame yourself.”

His eyes slipped shut. “I should have been able to stop them.”

“How? How could you have stopped it all on your own?” asked Thorin harshly. “Oh that’s right, all of that training you had on how to deal with sadistic thugs and occult magic, right?” Bilbo looked as if he might say something. “Bilbo, even _I_ would have failed in your position,” he continued. “And I do have combat training. Getting the children out would have been the best I could hope for on my own.”

“But….”

“ _No_. It’s those shirriff bastards who are to blame for this, Bilbo. Not you. Never you.”

Releasing a long breath, Bilbo laid his head back against the seat, body sinking into the firm padding wearily. Thorin’s heart ached fiercely as a tear slowly slid down his face. “It’s not your fault,” he said again gently, willing his friend to believe him. He wished he could wipe the tear away with his thumb. “And we’re going to make sure that wraith never hurts anyone again. Aren’t we?”

With a shaky breath, Bilbo nodded, reaching across to grip his hand where it laid between them. A curl of warmth encircled his fingers, sending a pleasant tingle up his arm. 

“…Thank you,” mumbled Bilbo.

“You rest now,” said Thorin, watching the ghost in concern. He looked as if he might fade away at any moment. “I’ll drive. You just take it easy, all right?”

His eyes opened a slit and he smiled gently at Thorin. “…All right.”

xxx

 

Despite his expectations, Bilbo remained in the car with him for the long drive back to Buckland. He seemed content to simply sit there, leaning heavily against the passenger seat with his eyes closed, saying the odd comment every so often. Thorin could hardly complain. Just having him nearby, peaceful and resting was a comfort. He could only hope Bilbo was taking comfort from his presence as well.

Mahal knew he needed it.

They were nearly to Tuckborough when Bilbo suddenly tensed, sitting up straight in his seat. Thorin had been lulled into a half daze from the long country roads and the halo of light his headlights were making through the darkening gloom of the early evening, snapping out of it at the motion off to his side.

“What’s wrong?”

Bilbo didn’t answer. His fingers gripped the seat, eyes wide and unfocused, as if he were listening for something. 

“It’s hunting.”

“The wraith?” asked Thorin, heart speeding up. “Is it attacking? Where?” 

“I—I have to go,” managed Bilbo, form flickering wildly.

“Be careful,” he said worriedly.

Bilbo nodded. His form wavered and then dissolved into small blobs of golden light, warm and glowing, before winking out, leaving him suddenly alone in the car.

Sighing, focusing his attention back on the road. Bilbo had been so tired, so worn out already even before they’d gone up to Bag End. It just wasn’t fair.

“Bastard,” he growled under his breath, cursing the damn wraith and everything that had ever caused Bilbo harm.

The GPS flickered and went out.

He stared at it dumbly for a few moments. 

Well fuck. 

Squinting, he tried to make out any signposts he could see indicating what streets he was passing. He needed to head east and a bit north to get to the Brandywine bridge. The road he was on was a winding one, but it was heading east.

The river. He just needed to get to the river, and he’d be fine. It was impossible to go around the thing without leaving the Shire entirely, so if he just kept east and north he would be fine.

Just fine.

No matter the first tendrils of fog beginning to form near the ground.

The sun had well set, darkening the heavily overcast sky and washing everything in the deep greys and blacks of night. Little specks of rain began to dot the windshield as he drove, the gravel of the road crunching beneath his tires.

A sign caught his eye, looming out of the darkness to be brilliantly illuminated by his headlights.

Bucklebury Ferry 1 Mile

The ferry. He must have been nearly to the river. But why was he so far south?

A low grinding noise came from the engine.

The headlights began to flicker.

Fog covered the ground in a thick layer, swirling around as he drove through it, knuckles white where he gripped the wheel. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, icy cold dread pooling in his stomach.

Something was watching him.

He could damn well guess what.

The turn off for the ferry opened on his right and he made for it, seeing the lights of a building through the trees. A few moments later the engine spluttered, the car shaking horribly as it slowed and then stopped, the headlights shutting off.

_Fuck_

Fumbling in the glove compartment, he grabbed the flashlight he had stowed there a few days earlier and kicked open the car door. Fog swirled all around him, the air cold, so very cold, the sickly sweet scent of decay thick enough to gag on.

Flicking on the flashlight he ran down the road towards the building, the gravel under his boots loud and jarring. He was nearly at the river when his flashlight dimmed and flickered out entirely.

A deep rattle sounded behind him, icy cold fingers trailing down the back of his neck and freezing him, his breath catching in his throat. 

He couldn’t scream, he could barely move, everything was so cold…

With one last effort he pushed against the clinging heaviness trying to smother him, forcing his body into movement. Mind suddenly clear he gasped, feeling his feet hit air and then—

Freezing water closed around him, heavy and cold, so cold, pulling him down. He let out a breath in shock, water rushing into his lungs, bubbles rising into the inky darkness swirling all around. Panic and fear had his heartbeat spiking, his lungs fighting for air that wasn’t there. Disoriented, he fought for the surface, slimy reeds tangling with his limbs.

Golden light exploded across the surface of the water just before the darkness closed in around him, dragging him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had parts of the bag end scene written for two years and I'm FINALLY publishing it ;-;
> 
> It's really late and I'm dead right now, but I'll respond to comments from the last chapter when I get up. Thank you so much everyone who's been reading and commenting! <333
> 
> Just two more chapters after this...(and an epilogue)


	12. Chapter 11

“…never seen anythin’ like it…”

“…car must have broke down…”

“…frost all over the ground, and there weren’t any just an hour ago…”

Groaning, Thorin slowly came back to himself, muffled voices prickling at the edge of his consciousness until he stirred. 

“Easy there now,” said a voice next to him.

Opening his eyes he made out the face of an unfamiliar woman looking down at him. PARAMEDIC was written across her blue uniform.

“What?” he managed, pushing himself up on his elbows. His head felt as if it had been stuffed full of cotton and his chest ached at the motion.

“Thorin!”

His head swiveled to the familiar voice. “Bilbo?”

Suddenly Bilbo was there, dropping to his knees beside him and gripping the edge of the cot he realized he was laying on. “Thank goodness! Are you all right?”

“I—“ he cleared his throat, finding it raw and tingling. “I’m fine.” The paramedic shot him an unimpressed look. He ignored her, focusing on Bilbo. “What happened?”

“You gave us a right scare is what, Mister Oakenshield.” A man joined them, wearing a dark brown uniform with the words BUKCLEBURY FERRY just legible. His name tag read ‘G. Fallows’.

The ferry outpost. He must be inside.

“Can you remember anything?” asked the paramedic, pressing her fingers to his wrist.

“Uh.” He coughed, wincing as it pained his throat. His eyes found Bilbo’s. He looked terrible, face tense and pale. There was something odd about him, but he couldn’t place what it was. “There was something wrong with, with the car and…”

 

The wraith! 

He’d fallen in the river, and then…

Darkness and bright golden light.

“I fell in the river.”

“That you did,” said Mr. Fallows, shaking his head. “If your friend here hadn’t come callin’ for help,” he nodded at Bilbo, “I don’t know if I would have been able to get you out in time. You were right passed out.”

“You have my thanks then,” said Thorin slowly. He couldn’t remember anything past the river. Everything was hazy and slow. It was probably best he couldn’t remember.

“Oh no,” said Mr. Fallows, shaking his head, “it was Ms. Heather here that did all the real work. Got here so fast and all, see.”

She hummed. “I was fortunate to be in the area. You had a close call, Mr. Oakenshield. How are you feeling?”

He cleared his throat, wincing again at its rawness. “All right. My throat’s a bit sore.” He shifted, sitting up straighter. “Chest hurts a bit too.”

“That will be the water you swallowed,” she noted. “We had to get it out.”

“Ah.” 

Bilbo shifted guiltily, still kneeling next to his cot. 

“You’ll have to keep an eye on it,” she continued, “If it gets worse or you start coughing anything up you’d best take yourself to a doctor straight away.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“Does your head hurt at all? Any dizziness or aching?”

“Some,” admitted Thorin, turning his head to the side and wincing at the dull throb that had been lurking just behind his eyes. “It comes and goes.”

“Feeling chilled at all?”

“No.” He shivered. “Somewhat,” he amended.

“Well, for now I’d say you’ve gotten off pretty well. Treat it as you would a cold, but do keep an eye on it if anything gets worse.”

“Great, thanks.”

She smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a quick call to make.” She went off into the other room, puling out a two-way from her belt. 

“Er, I’ll just…” Mr. Fallows gestured awkwardly to the other room. “Go see about that car of yours, shall I?”

“Thank you,” said Bilbo, smiling thinly. The man left, the sound of the cabin door opening and closing bringing with it a cold rush of air from outside. Thorin shivered again and swung his legs over the cot. His jacket was draped over a chair, just a bit damp to the touch. 

“He, um. He can’t see me,” whispered Bilbo with a quick look over his shoulder. “I mean, I’m _showing_ myself.” 

“Er, right,” Thorin said, uncomprehendingly, pulling his jacket on. It was taking his head longer then it should to catch up. Heather walked back inside and began gathering her equipment, pacing it into a bag by the far corner.

“I mean, I’m trying very hard to appear as solid as I possibly can,” explained Bilbo lowly, “so please don’t bump into me or make any contact because it’s going to look very strange if anything goes through me.”

“Oh. Yes—no, of course. Um,” he tried to sneakily glance over to the paramedic. “What about—she also can’t—“

“Don’t worry about me,” came Heather’s voice. They both jumped, not realizing she could hear them. She winked, grinning. “Bilbo’s an old acquaintance. I won’t say anything.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Yes, ah, thank you for your…discretion.”

“Not at all.”

The ferry guard came back into he room, worrying his hat in his hands. “Your car seems all right, Mr. Oakenshield,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “The key was still in the ignition and everythin’ is workin’ just fine. Funny. You’re the third person this week to have car troubles right by the ferry,” he trailed off, his brow knitting together.

“You’re clear to go Mr. Oakenshield,” began Heather brightly, “but only under the conditions that you rest and take it easy for at least a day. Your body’s taken quite the shock, so stay warm and drink lots of hot fluids.”

“Fine. Good.”’

“I don’t want you driving home tonight either.”

“But—“

She levered him a stern look, halting his objections. “I can give you a lift home or we can call someone to come pick you up, but you are not driving.”

“But—“

“I’m perfectly capable of driving Thorin back home,” said Bilbo firmly, cutting him off.

“Um.” Thorin tried to make eye contact with him urgently. Bilbo couldn’t drive. Or could he? They didn’t have cars two-hundred years ago. Right? He squinted at him uncertainly.

“If you’re sure?” asked Heather, raising her eyebrows. 

Bilbo nodded. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you for the offer.”

“Wonderful. I’ll just see you two out, then.”

Standing brought a huge wave of dizziness with it, Thorin feeling weaker and more achy than he had any right to be. From Bilbo’s tight expression, it showed.

“Here, lean on me,” offered Heather, quickly offering her arm. He took it grudgingly, a chill running through his frame as they made their way outside. Mr. Fallows trailed behind, Bilbo doing his best to not bump into anything or brush against anyone.

“We can manage from here, thanks,” said Thorin, having regained his equilibrium. His car was parked just a few feet away.

“All right,” said Heather, stepping back. Bilbo sided up to him immediately, looking like he wanted to take Thorin’s arm. He couldn’t of course. The paramedic eyed them both critically. “You folks stay safe now. No driving from you Mr. Oakenshield, and you’d be best going right to bed and staying there for the next day or so.”

“Thank you Heather,” said Bilbo, bobbing his head. “I’ll see to it that he does.”

“Good on you, Mr. Baggins. Safe trip now!”

“Yes, yes, goodbye and all,” added Mr. Fallows, squinting. “Can’t be too careful these days. Right awful weather we’ve been havin’, all that fog comin’ and goin’ so suddenly,” he shook his head. “And that bright light, and those awful sounds. Don’t know what it’s all comin’ to…”

Thorin and Bilbo started towards the car, the light from the building painting the trees and casting long shadows all around. The night was clear thankfully, the air full of the sound of the river behind them and the rustling leaves from all sides. He shivered again, the chill in the air getting to him.

“Do you know how to drive?” he asked Bilbo lowly, glancing back at the two figures standing on the porch and watching them. “Wait— _can_ you even drive? I mean physically.”

Bilbo sniffed. “I can operate the car.”

“Ah.” That wasn’t exactly comforting.

“It’s fine, I promise I know what I’m doing,” huffed Bilbo, flapping his hands at him. “Just get in and let’s get you home. You look exhausted.”

“So do you.”

Thorin pulled open the passenger seat and got in. Bilbo made to reach for the door on his side and then froze, glancing back at their audience. He met Thorin’s gaze through the window.

“Erm…Thorin?”

“Hm?”

He ducked down, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. “I can’t open the door,” he hissed nervously.

_Oh._

Right.

“Hold on.” He leaned over the seats awkwardly, scrambling around for the door handle. His fingers closed around it. “Ok, on three, I’m going to push.” Bilbo nodded seriously. “Try to make it look like you’re pulling.”

“Ok.”

“One…two…three.”

He pushed the door open, getting it only halfway, Bilbo awkwardly trying to follow the movement along with his hand. From where he was half stretched out over the seats Thorin was only so flexible, and had to make an uncomfortable shuffle forward to give the door one extra shove wide enough for Bilbo to slip in.

“Get in,” he grunted, seat-belt buckle digging into his ribs.

“Ok! Ok! I’m in!” The ghost clambered inside, avoiding the door but accidentally clipping through a bit of the car in his haste. Thorin sucked in a quick breath as he hoisted himself back in his seat, hoping they didn’t see that.

“All right, let’s get you home,” said Bilbo, sitting back in the seat. The engine started up, the headlights springing to light.

“Not bad,” said Thorin.

“Ah, Thorin.” Bilbo laughed nervously. “The door’s still open,” he said brightly.

“ _Shit._ ” 

He threw himself back across the seat, passing right through Bilbo’s legs and sending his whole chest tingling with the warmth of the contact. Stretching out his fingers he just barely reached the handle.

“Would it help if I started driving?”

“No!” He scrambled closer, wincing as most of his arm was sticking out of the car. His fingers closed around the handle. The car lurched forward, starting down the path.

“Ah, it’s um, it’s driving. Sorry.”

With a curse he slammed the door shut, the car slowly rolling down the road. A wave of nausea assailed him as he righted himself, his head pounding.

“Ok, go, go!”

“I’m going!”

They picked up speed, the building and the figures on the porch shrinking in the distance. The car turned itself back onto the main road and headed north at a gesture from Bilbo.

The ghost breathed out a sigh of relief. He looked over at Thorin nervously. “Do you, do you think they suspected anything?”

“You know, I think they might have,” said Thorin, rubbing his forehead wearily.

“Oh,” said Bilbo. “Sorry about that...”

Thorin looked at his companion. He chuckled, shaking his head. It hurt his chest and his throat, but it was worth it for the startled look and sheepish grin that graced Bilbo’s face.

 

Xxx

 

They crossed over the Brandywine Bridge into Buckland, the wooden planks making a hollow sound as they drove over. Thorin was only too happy to see the back of the river, considering he’d apparently nearly drowned in it just an hour or so back.

As turned to say as much to Bilbo, his form faded alarmingly, the ghost sinking slower in his seat, shoulders slumping. 

“Bilbo?!”

“Hmm.” He was faint, but still there, the seat behind him possible to make out. The car was still driving but noticeably slower.

“Bilbo, stop. I’m driving.”

Instantly the ghost straightened, form brightening. He shot Thorin a withering glare. “Absolutely not!”

“You’re exhausted.”

“You were attacked!”

“This is putting too much strain on you. I won’t have it after everything you’ve been through today.”

“Your hands are shaking! And I know that headache can’t have just magically vanished.”

“Well _you’re_ all see-through!”

“I’m a ghost.” He sniffed. “What do you expect?”

“More see-through than usual, then,” clarified Thorin.

“Well _excuse_ me for not following the guidelines for acceptable levels of transparency!”

“You—look, you just flickered! You’re exhausted!”

“You were unconscious for an hour! I—I wasn’t—” he sniffed again, biting his lip. “...I wasn’t fast enough.”

 

“Hey, hey no,” said Thorin firmly. “Stop. This is not your fault, ok?” He could tell Bilbo didn’t believe him. He let out a sigh. “If anything it’s my fault for forgetting about the bloody vial.” 

Bilbo shot him a flat look. “Thorin, on the list of ‘whose fault it is’, your name is right at the bottom.”

“How many names are on the list? Three?” 

Bilbo didn’t reply. His hands were clenched defensively around his middle, fingers white at the knuckles. “I shouldn’t have fallen for that trick,” he said, voice tight. “It lured me away and then attacked you. It’s getting stronger. It knew I was already worn out from last night. I should have seen it coming.”

“Bilbo, I think you’re forgetting the most important part where you saved my life. Again.”

“But you were only in danger because of—“

“ _No_.” He growled, frustrated and absolutely done with Bilbo being hurt, even by himself. “Look, I’m _trying_ to dreg up resentment for you and I’ve got nothing.” Bilbo looked as if he might say something. “No, sorry, that was a lie. I can’t bring myself to even _try_ and resent you.”

“Thorin, I…” he shut his eyes suddenly, swaying, face pale. 

“Bilbo!” He reached over to steady the wheel as the ghost flickered alarmingly. The car began to slow. “Hey, hey, stay with me.”

“…Sorry.” Bilbo blinked, his form brightening. He gritted his teeth, staring down the road determinedly. “I’ll get you home, Thorin. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he grumbled, his eyes running over Bilbo in concern.

“Nearly there.”

They were, thankfully. Dis’ house came into view through the trees a short while later. It was a hugely welcoming sight. Especially as Bilbo had begun to sway in his seat, eyes half open, the car moving well below speed limit. They rolled to a halt, the car shuting off. Bilbo slumped forward with a gasp, his eyes slipping shut, taking slow, deep breaths.

“I knew I should have drove,” growled Thorin as he undid his seat-belt, heart panging at the sight of him. Bilbo faded further, the car seat behind him clearly visible now, the ghost just a faint outline. He cursed his aching head and shaking hands for putting Bilbo through even more strain than he already had been through today. 

It just wasn’t fair.

“Hey.” He carefully placed his hand atop Bilbo’s on the seat. The tingling warmth of the contact was faint, much fainter than it should have been. “Hey, it’s all right. We’re here. You can rest now.”

Bilbo’s eyes struggled open, blinking wearily. “Thorin? You…you need to rest.”

He huffed a worried laugh, watching the ghost fondly. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“You have to go right to bed,” he said seriously, slurring his words just slightly, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“I will, I promise,” said Thorin gently. “But you have to as well.”

Bilbo frowned. “Don’t have one…” he mumbled, rubbing his face wearily.

“Rest, Bilbo,” pressed Thorin. “You’ve done more than enough today.”

A smile tugged at the ghost’s lips. “That an order, Detective?”

“Yes it is, and I expect you to carry it out.”

“All right then.”

It felt wrong to just leave Bilbo in the car, but it wasn’t like he could carry him (no matter how much he would like to). The ghost came and went as he pleased. He could sleep anywhere. Right?

Did he sleep?

“Goodnight, Bilbo.” 

Bilbo mumbled something, head drooping. A smile tugged at his lips at the sight. He opened the car door and stepped out into the night.

“Thorin?”

He turned, finding Bilbo looking sleepily up at him from the car. “Goodnight,” said the ghost.

“Goodnight,” he replied, smiling fondly. Bilbo faded away to a soft golden glow, gently winking out.

 

Xxx

 

“There you are, Thorin.” Dis came out into the entry way as he was taking off his boots. “I was just about to call. You’re in late tonight.”

“Sorry.” He glanced up at her. Exhaustion was tugging at his limbs, making the task of undoing his laces more difficult than it had any right to be. 

She watched him, a frown on her face. “Is everything all right?”

“Mm. Car trouble. Got some help. It’s fine now.” His throat was aching, his head feeling as though it had been stuffed with cotton. He put his boots on the mat next to the pile of haphazardly placed footwear, straightening and shrugging off his jacket.

Dis continued to frown, worry clear on her face as she watched his sluggish movements. “Are you feeling ok? You don’t look so good.”

“Tired.”

She smiled at him sadly. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but you’ve clearly over done it, Thorin. Off to bed with you.”

He nodded and mumbled goodnight, feet carrying him to his room in a daze. Shrugging off his shirt and trousers he crawled into bed, barley managing to reach over and turn off the lamp on the nightstand before sleep overtook him.

 

Xxx

 

Some time later he woke up, the darkness of the room telling him it was still late at night. 

There was a figure sitting at the edge of his bed. He squinted, blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

“Bilbo?”

The figure turned, standing immediately and shrinking back.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave if you’re uncomfortable with—“

“Stay.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, patting the bed invitingly. “You were supposed to rest,” he accused as Bilbo tentatively sat down beside him.

“I was, but I…” Bilbo sighed. “I was too worried about you,” he confessed quietly.

He blinked stupidly. “Me?

Bilbo swallowed, expression tense. “I nearly wasn’t fast enough. You almost drowned. I—I couldn’t have born it if you’d—if it had—“

He groaned, swatting a sleep heavy hand in his direction “No. It’s late. We’re both exhausted. No more blaming,” he growled, hating how small Bilbo looked.

“I’m sorry,” said Bilbo, eyes wide. He made to rise from the bed. “I can go—“

“ _No_.”

He patted the bed again, glaring until Bilbo gave in and sat down again. “You need rest. And I don’t trust you not to stay up worrying all night.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No more sorries,” grumbled Thorin, gesturing irritably at Bilbo to lie down. He did so hesitantly, tucking his feet up neatly atop the covers, hands curled in front of his chest. Thorin mirrored his position so they were facing each other. “You’re going to stay right here so I can make sure you’re sleeping.”

A smile tugged at Bilbo’s lips. “How’re you going to do that if you’re asleep, too?” he whispered.

“I’ll stay up and watch you.”

“You’ll do no such thing. You’re already half asleep.”

“So are you. You’re fading out. Eyes all droopy, too.”

“Mm. Was a long day.”

“Damn long day.”

“Thorin?” came Bilbo’s voice after a little while.

“Hmm?”

“You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Oh. Oh Yeah.” He huffed a sleepy laugh. “Guess that didn’t work out.”

“Hasn’t been very fun, has it?”

“Don’t know.” He reached out clumsily, laying his hand over Bilbo’s on the covers. Familiar tingling warmth suffused his fingers. “Met someone.”

Bilbo’s eyes met his, shining brightly. “Did you now?”

“Mmhmm. Someone nice.”

“That so?”

“Makes up for the rest of it.”

“Thorin?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“’Course.”

“I met someone nice too.”

 

Xxx

 

Sometime during the night his chills had stopped, and the soreness in his throat and chest had nearly cleared by the time he’d gotten up in the late morning. It was strange. He’d been so sure he’d find himself miserably sick but he felt remarkably decent.

Memories of last night were hazy, but he remembered very clearly Bilbo lying next to him, fingers gently tracing his arm, the pleasant feeling of warmth accompanying his movements. He’d woken once more during the night, only to roll over before falling asleep again. But he remembered feeling warm all over. A very familiar warmth he was beginning to associate with a certain ghost. Maybe that had helped chase off his chill?

Thorin liked to think so. Especially if claiming sharing a bed with Bilbo was good for his health got him another night in his company.

He exchanged a few texts with Bilbo throughout the day, asking after his health and if there was anything he could do to help. Bilbo told him he had everything in hand, and Thorin was to _rest_ and take it easy. He also thanked him for sharing his bed so generously, and even confessed to finding it very comfortable. 

Thorin had grinned like an idiot for an entire five minutes after reading that text.

In a rare display of common sense regarding his own well being, Thorin opted to spend the day at the house, even if he had felt remarkably better than he’d been expecting. He texted Dwalin and went over everything he knew about Bilbo and the wraith and what he should be prepared for.

It turned his stomach, but he’d looked up everything he could find about dark magic rituals and sacrifices. Most sources he’d found could hardly be called credible. Reading some of these so-called experts speak so callously about human lives was disgusting, but there had been something useful. Most seemed to agree that whatever dark force was being called upon drew its strength from the energy of suffering, of pain. Hence the sacrifices and frequent torture used in their magics.

Thorin promised to himself that once all of this was over, he would personally hunt down the names of those corrupt shirriff bastards and drag their names through the mud as much as he could. Dwalin would help him. And young Ori Rison in journalism would jump at the chance to do an international story, he was sure.

But for now he had to stay focused and recover his strength for tomorrow.

Tomorrow was Halloween. 

And Halloween night was when it would all happen.

 

Xxx

 

“Thorin!”

“Thorin wake up! It’s here!”

He jolted out of the slight doze he’d fallen into, snapping awake at the desperate voice. Bilbo was there, standing in the darkness of his room, looking absolutely frantic.

“It—what?” 

“Get up! The wraith, it’s outside!” 

“Wait, what?!”

Scrambling to his feet, he crossed to the window. Outside was a wall of fog, curling around the house and blocking out the sky. 

There on the edge of the woods surrounding the house was a monstrous shadow, piercing eyes staring out at him. His stomach dropped, icy fingers trialing down his spine.

“It’s after the children!” said Bilbo urgently.

“The—“ he looked at him desperately. “It can’t get inside, right?”

There was a noise from inside the house, the floorboards creaking in the hallway and the slight sound of footsteps on the stairs.

“It doesn’t have to, it will call them out!”

“What!?” He swore, grabbing the vial from his bedside table and racing out of his room to the hallway.

“Quickly, downstairs!”

“Thorin?” came Dis’s voice. Lights were flicking on.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Is everything all right?”

Running into the kitchen he caught sight of Fili, sleep rumpled and pajama clad, walking slowly towards the screen door to the backyard. 

“Get Kili and Gimli, now!” roared Thorin. “Fili!” 

Fili didn’t even look at him. His eyes were glazed, his hand reaching for the latch to open the door. 

Darting forward, he grabbed the boy up, pulling him back from the door. Glancing up, Thorin met the eyes of the wraith staring at him through the screen door across the yard. His arms tightened around Fili defensively.

The wraith held out one shadowy hand and twitched its fingers, beckoning.

The lights from upstairs flickered. He couldn’t look away from the awful glowing eyes staring back at him. Everything slowed and twisted, his vision tunneling in on the horrible thing staring at him out of the fog.

Distantly he heard shouts from upstairs, a child crying, frantic voices.

They ceased to mean anything to him.

Slowly, against his will, he began to move closer, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears.

Golden light exploded through the fog, slamming into the wraith with a blinding fury. 

Thorin blinked, reality crashing down on him. Gripping Fili tighter, he stepped further into he kitchen, unable to look away from the fight outside. The fog wavered, the wraith uncoiling and expanding outward in a huge pulsating mass, tying to wrap around the light and snuff it out. 

“Thorin!”

“Fili!”

“Dis,” he turned, catching sight of her and Vili coming into the kitchen, a crying Kili held in his father's arms. 

Dis hurried over, taking Fili from him and looking the boy over anxiously. “Are you ok? What happened?” She asked, kneeling down to better see her son. Fili just shook his head mutely and hid in her arms.

“Where’s Gimi?” asked Thorin.

“Here,” Shuli came down carrying her son, his face burred in her chest, Gloin puffing and red faced behind them. 

“What’s going on?!” he yelled. “Our Gimli went into some kind of trace, tried to crawl out the window—“

“That’s what Kili was doing,” added Vili looking very pale and shaken. “And then there was that, that _thing_ …in the fog—“

“Look!” cried Dis. She pointed out the back door. Shuli cursed, Gloin and Vili staring wide-eyed at the sight before them.

Fog was still covering everything in a thick blanket, but through it they could see a monstrous shadow, fighting with a bright glowing light that cut through its cloying mass, trying to force it back.

“Mahal save us,” whispered Gloin.

“Hold onto the kids,” started Thorin, fingers grasping the vial in his pocket, “and don’t go outside.”

“Thorin what— _Thorin!_ ”

The backdoor banged shut behind him as he charged out into the fog. It was freezing. Fog clung to his skin sickeningly, the smell of decay all around. Bilbo was fighting it back, a brilliant glowing orb, darting around and blinding it where he could. But it was clear the wraith was the larger presence. It was too strong.

He grit his teeth, his fingers tightening around the vial.

“Hey!” he yelled, trying to get the thing’s attention. It shuddered, a chunk of it breaking away from where it was trying to smother Bilbo’s bright light and making for him, stretching like a great terrible hand, fingers clawed and grasping.

_THORIN!_

Bilbo’s voice sounded in his head, the light pulsing frantically.

_GET BACK INSIDE!_

_RUN!_

“That’s right you piece of shite,” he snarled as the hand closed around him. “Come and get it!” He held up the vial, squeezing his eyes shut and thinking desperately of Bilbo happy and smiling, his family safe, Bilbo laughing —

Light exploded out from the vial, cutting through the fog and making the grasping hand shrink back in pain. Bilbo redoubled his efforts, shining as brightly as he could, fending off the wraith and forcing it back into the woods.

A terrible shrieking sound rent the air, the sound like finger nails down the inside of Thorin’s head. Everything shuddered, the world around him spinning and twisting sickeningly.

And then it all stopped.

Gasping, he looked up. The night was clear and cold, a few patches of stars peaking out from between the clouds. The vial in his hand glowed softly, matching the orb of golden light pulsing gently a few feet away.

The wraith was gone.

“Thorin!”

Bilbo materialized, forming out of the warm light. He dashed across to Thorin, face blotchy and eyes wet.

“You great stupid _git!_ ” the ghost yelled, smacking his chest. Warmth danced across his skin at the contact. “What were you trying to do?! Get yourself killed!?”

“You needed help,” said Thorin, taking him in carefully. “And I remembered the vial this time.”

“So?! You could have _died!_ ”

The sound of the backdoor opening had them both turning.

“Thorin, what the hell is going on?!” came Dis’ voice.

“What was that thing?”

He sighed, and started back to the house. “Is everyone all right?”

“Oh aye, we’re all just fine and peachy!” cried Gloin, throwing his hands up in the air. “Bloody specters! No wonder the lads all said Buckland was cursed!”

“Hush, you’re upsetting the kids,” hissed Shuli, elbowing him sharply.

“Who’s that with you, Thorin?” asked Vili, watching them with wide eyes.

“Er.” He stopped. Bilbo had hung back, watching them all uncertainly. “This is, er…this is Bilbo. He’s—”

He faltered. 

What could he say? 

_He’s a ghost? He was that bright golden light just now? He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met?_

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably as the silence dragged on, fingers worrying the sleeves of his coat. “It’s all right,” he began quietly, “I can go if—“

“He’s my boyfriend.” 

Bilbo stared at him wordlessly, eyes wide. Thorin stared right back. He’d just blurted it out.

“Oh. Ok,” said Dis, watching them both. “That’s—so why is he—?”

“You came out of that light, didn’t you?” asked Shuli, watching Bilbo carefully.

“Ah,” Bilbo crossed his arms over his stomach defensively. “Ye-yes.” He sniffed. “I did.”

“Ach, that’s enough of that.” Gloin waved a hand at them, going back inside. “I canne handle this sober. You’d both better come in and explain this all, have us a drink.”

“Best put the kids back to sleep first,” said Vili, holding Kili closer. The boy had stopped crying and was slumped on his father’s shoulder, eyes shut and face blotchy.

“Right,” said Dis. “But don’t even think of going anywhere until you’ve told us what’s going on.”

“Understood,” agreed Thorin. 

He looked back at Bilbo. “Are you ok with that?” he asked quietly. “You can leave if you’re uncomfortable.”

Bilbo stared at him for a moment before shaking his head, inching closer shyly.

“What is it?” asked Thorin, worried by his body language. “Did I overstep back there? I can tell them it was—“

“No. No not at all. I just—“ Bilbo bit his lip. A faint blush spread across his face. “I never thought I’d get to be introduced as someone’s boyfriend. Let alone yours.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

“We’d better get inside. I’m going to have some explaining to do.”

“I’ll help.”

“Thank you.”

Thorin led Bilbo into the house, shutting the door firmly on the cold night behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chapter left! I'm trying sooo hard to get this done for halloween!


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: some minor gore

 

Halloween of the year 3602 of the Fifth Age fell on a Saturday. The sun was well hidden behind a thick curtain of clouds, a frosty bite to the wind rattling the dying leaves through the woods of Buckland.

The Brandywine River churned ever downstream, deep and deceptively strong, spindly weeds reaching out of murky depths to ensnare unwary passerby in their grasp. A thin layer of fog formed close the surface of the rippling water, gathering underneath the Brandywine Bridge, the sole passage connecting Buckland to the rest of the Shire. 

Water swelled, lapping at the banks of the river restlessly.

In the woods, something rattled, old and cruel and hungry.

 

Xxx

 

Breakfast was something of an awkward affair. 

Things had gone…well, last night. As well as they could be expected to. Better in some ways than Thorin had feared.

Firstly, no one was questioning his sanity. That was a very major triumph as far as he was concerned. Secondly, no one was giving him any trouble over not only having a boyfriend, but in having him over. 

Introductions had been somewhat uncomfortable, however.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Oakenshield,” said Bilbo, nodding politely at Dis. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Likewise.” She held out her hand. Bilbo stared at it a moment, and then with a sad little smile reached out to grasp it. She gasped, his hand going right through.

“Oh.”

“Mahal’s balls,” exclaimed Gloin. “Ye really are some kind of spirit, aren’t ye, laddie.”

Bilbo laughed nervously. “Ah, afraid so.”

Dis shakily pulled her hand back to herself and gave a stiff nod. “Gloin, you said something about whisky?”

“Aye lass, bottoms up.”

Once they’d all had a couple of drinks (except for Bilbo, though Gloin continued to offer through the night, forgetting that the ghost lacked a physical stomach or digestive system) things had gone a bit smoother.

It was more the explaining _what_ Bilbo was that had proved difficult, not to mention the wraith and the attacks. Thorin had given an extremely abbreviated version of his understanding of things, Bilbo piping in where he saw fit.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning Dis had called it quits, demanding that everyone go to bed and leave all this evil stuff for the morning.

“Bilbo, I’m afraid we’re fresh out of guest rooms,” said Dis, rubbing her eyes tiredly, “but feel free to take the couch if you would like. Er.” She looked up, squinting at him. “Do you need sleep? Sorry, that was rude. I’m afraid my filter is all but gone.”

He smiled at her. “It’s quite all right, no harm done. It’s very kind of you to offer, but I’ll be fine.”

Thorin cleared his throat and crossed his arms pointedly. “You can use my bed.”

“It’s really all right,” offered Bilbo weakly, a flush crawling up his neck.

“You need sleep just as much as the rest of us, if not more considering you took that wraith on.”

Shuli grinned widely, slinging an arm around her husband. He nearly toppled over at the sudden weight, tipsy from the whisky. “Inviting him to your bed, Thorin?”

Thorin stiffened, jutting out his chin defensively. “Maybe I am.”

“Go on then,” chuckled Dis, waving him off. “Have fun, but be safe!”

“Dis!” growled Thorin, turning red.

“Good heavens,” peeped Bilbo, hiding his head in his hands.

“Oh, don’t suppose they’d have to,” began Vili thoughtfully, “Bilbo’s not really…tangible.”

“Oh yeah. Huh…”

“A shame,” sighed Shuli. She patted Thorin consolingly on the shoulder. “You’ll work it out though.”

“And we’re leaving now, goodnight!” called Thorin, starting up the stairs at a near dash, Bilbo quick on his heels.

It had been mortifying, but at least everyone had been accepting. And it had landed him with another night of Bilbo in his bed, so he could hardly complain.

This morning Bilbo sat awkwardly at Thorin’s side at the kitchen table, watching everyone have breakfast and drink their coffee. The kids were still sleeping, needing a good lie in after what had happened last night. At finding the ghost seated at the table, he’d received greetings that ranged from startled (Shuli) to pleasant (Dis and Vili) to simply blurry and hung over (Gloin). 

“So,” began Dis with forced cheerfulness. “Any plans today, Thorin?”

“Erm,” he looked over to Bilbo. “We’ll be busy tonight, but I’m not sure before then.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from a large plate of French toast he’d been staring at for the last few minutes. “There’s a meeting at the Hall today about, er, everything that’s happening. What we’re going to do about it. Gloin, you’re free to come along if you’d like. I think they would appreciate having a shirriff from one of the other farthings there.”

“Aye,” he said slowly. “I think I’ll be going to that.” He looked down at his coffee despairingly. “Mahal help me.”

 

Xxx

 

When Thorin pulled into the parking lot at Brandy Hall it was to find it packed full of cars. Very different from when they had last been here only a few days ago. He shivered, getting out of the car and pulling his coat closer around himself. There was something strange in the air today, a restlessness, the wind rushing by and sweeping up leaves in small whirls across the pavement.

“This the place?” asked Gloin, squinting at the Hall.

“That’s it.”

“Right. Best see what’s happening then.”

The meeting was held in what must have been a conference room, dark wood paneling decorating the walls and a lush carpet underfoot, long crescent shaped rows of benches filling the room, an aisle down the middle leading to a raised platform at the front. 

When they entered it was to find the room mostly full, people talking together quietly in small groups. He spotted Shirriff Maggot speaking with a few others wearing the brass feather pin given to shirriffs, but recognized few others. To his surprise Bofur was also in attendance, chatting away with a few people dressed in paramedic scrubs.

“Ach, it’s Stonecrow,” said Gloin suddenly, stopping in his tracks. 

“Who?”

“The fellow with the crossed feathers on his badge. Big shiny thing. Made of gold. See?”

Thorin did see. “And that means what?”

“Mean’s he’s the First Shirriff.” Gloin sniffed, straightening his uniform surreptitiously. “In charge of them all. He holds more power than all the Chief Shirriff combined. Must be serious if they managed to get him to come.”

The door opened behind them, and they shuffled further into the room to give the newcomer more space. Thorin turned to see who had come in. It was Saradoc. He grit his teeth, tensing with the effort to stop himself from saying anything he’d regret, especially in front of so many enforcers.

Luckily for them both, the Master didn’t notice him. “Please take your seats,” called Saradoc, heading to the front of the room. “The meeting is about to begin.”

They shuffled into seats in the middle row, Thorin careful to keep the space on his other side empty.

Saradoc cleared his throat importantly as the whispering quieted down. “As you all know, this meeting has been called to address a threat posed to the people of Buckland. This month alone we have had seven deaths and eleven reports of injuries.”

“We have all heard the rumors,” came a voice. 

It was the man Gloin had pointed out. The First Shirriff. He was dressed in a much fancier uniform than the others, his slightly larger gold badge near gleaming. “We have little reason to believe they are true.”

Saradoc stiffened, his hands tightening just slightly. “First Shirriff Stonecrow. The statistics complied from the last few decades alone show a consistent number of casualties and unexplained accidents that all occur in October, just before Halloween. It is impossible to deny this.”

“Something is certainly causing these disruptions,” allowed the Shirriff. “But we in Michel Delving believe in looking for rational solutions before jumping to wild conclusions.”

If looks could kill, Stonecrow would be six feet under from all the icy glares he was receiving from all around the room.

“As would any,” continued Saradoc evenly. “We in Buckland are a practical people, First Shirriff. Danger lies ever at our doorstep, and as such we have learned to prepare for it instead of deny its existence.”

Thorin scoffed to himself. Like Saradoc could talk. Bilbo had said nearly the same thing to him just a few days ago! He crossed his arms and glowered. Saradoc could go stuff it.

“Chief Shirriff Maggot,” continued Saradoc, oblivious to Thorin grumblings, “would you care to come forward?”

“With pleasure.” Maggot stood, making her way to the front.

“Chief Shirriff Maggot is something of an expert on this…phenomenon.” He explained, allowing her to take the platform and claiming a seat in the first row.

“Thank you, Master Saradoc.” She nodded. “Now most of you here are already fully aware of the danger we are facing--whether it is written in our guidebooks or not—“ Stonecrow sniffed. “And as the Master was saying, this year looks to be the worst so far.” The smile slid off her face, replaced by a stone cold glare. “The danger is very real. If we do not move to protect Buckland, tonight _will_ see more deaths and injuries than we have hospital beds for. It will only get worse from there if what is being attempted tonight proceeds.”

“And what is being attempted?” asked another man. She squinted at him. “Er, sorry, Chief Shirriff Highfield from Tookland,” he introduced, giving an awkward wave. “We’ve heard rumors as well, and ah, of course there’s the old stories...”

“The reaper,” offered Stonecrow dryly.

“Er, yes, that chap. Do you mean to say it’s real?”

“I mean to say more than that it’s real.” She leaned forward intently. “I mean to say that it’s seeking to cross over fully into our realm and feast freely on the people of Buckland.”

Someone erupted in a coughing fit, murmurs filling the rest of the Hall.

“Saradoc, this is your expert, is it?” asked Stonecrow, looking at his watch.

Maggot smiled. There was something wide and dangerous about it. “Oh no. It was kind of the Master to say as much, but _I’m_ not the official expert on the subject, as it were.”

“Then who is this ‘official expert’, as it were?” asked Stonecrow, growing impatient.

“I am.”

Half the audience jumped and gasped as suddenly Maggot wasn’t alone at the front anymore. 

Thorin grinned into his collar.

“Bilbo!” called someone.

“Bilbo Baggins!”

Scattered applause came from the assembled group, some calling out greetings. Bofur gave a loud whoop and a huge thumbs up.

Bilbo gave a little wave, smiling bashfully. “Hullo.”

“What—” began Stonecrow, jumping to his feet and staring in outrage. “What kind of a cheap show is this, Saradoc? You drag me all the way down to your little town on one of the busiest days of the year spouting nonsense about ghosts and wraiths and then shamelessly put on some cheap haunted house effects?! Am I to expect the—“ 

“Look.” Maggot put her whole arm right through Bilbo’s head. The ghost winced and leaned back slightly.

“Well I’ll be,” whispered Shirriff Highfield, slumping back in his seat numbly.

“A little warning next time, Iris,” said Bilbo dryly.

“Sorry.”

Stonecrow stood up, all the colour drained from his face. “Stop this farce at once! This is a-a projection! Some light trick!”

“To what purpose could I possibly have to set something like that up?” asked Saradoc irritably.

“You just can’t handle normal delinquents that we all have this time of year, you just want us to deal with it for you!”

Bilbo clucked his tongue. “Oh fine.” He began to glow, bright and golden, form melting away into a soft golden orb. It swirled gently around the room and scattered at sudden gust of wind, drawing exclamations from the crowd. They melted away, disappearing from the room. Then Bilbo calmly walked back through the wall to their right, making his way back onto the platform.

He was met with scattered applause, Thorin among the loudest.

The ghost sighed, an embarrassed blush tinting his cheeks. “Yes, thank you. But enough of this. We need to discuss what we can—“

A choked exclamation cut him off.

“You—it—“ Stonecrow shook his head mutely, staring at Bilbo with wide and terrified eyes. Then he turned and strode briskly from the room, wide coat flaring dramatically out behind him.

Saradoc sighed, burying his face in his hands wearily.

“Suppose we should have expected as much, really,” remarked Maggot in the resulting silence. “The rest of the Shire has never cared for our troubles. We’re on our own.”

“Oi!” It was the shirriff from Tookland. “I’m with you. I’ll see if any of my people will help with, er…whatever it is you need help doing.”

“Much appreciated.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, regaining their attention. “Some of you may already know me,” he began. “I know the wraith better than anyone, and I know how to stop it. As Maggot was saying tonight it will try to cross through into our realm permanently. The veil between worlds is weakest on this night, and the full moon will only grant it more strength. To fully cross over, it will seek to feed off of the energies of the living, taking their lives to strengthen its own power.”

“But it also gives us a chance. Tonight, we can defeat it once and for all!”

“How?” someone called.

“We’ll need to enter the Barrow-Downs.” Silence met this statement. He shifted nervously and continued. “The wraith was summoned from its tomb by a ritual two-hundred years ago. If we are to destroy the wraith we must enter its tomb and destroy the altar there. That’s what’s giving it the power to manifest outside of the downs.”

“Aye, I reckoned it would be something like that,” said a man Thorin recognized as the Chief Shirriff of Buckland. “Who’s in?”

A smattering of hands raised across the room. After a few moments more followed.

“It will be very dangerous,” warned Bilbo, voice tense. “We will need to cross through the Old Forest even before we have to face the wraith and the other barrow-wights that live there. I urge you all to consider this carefully before volunteering. No one will be thought of any less for choosing not to go.”

Maggot slammed her fist down on her armrest. “If this is our only chance to stop it, I say let’s stop it! It’s gone on for far too long and hurt too many!”

“Aye!”

“The Buckland Shirriffs and Bounders have offered their support,” said the Chief Buckland Shirriff.

“Aye,” agreed one of the chief Bounders, “It’s long been our duty to protect and patrol the borders of the Shire. This threat has been crossing into our lands for long enough. It stops now.”

“Down with the reaper!” 

And slowly more and more people stood up and agreed to brave the wraith.

 

Xxx

 

“You don’t have to do this.”

Thorn paused for a moment in his packing. Everything he thought he would need tonight was going into a backpack he’d wear at all times. 

“Yes I do.”

Bilbo sighed, shifting on Thorin’s bed. The paramedics had handed out thermal blankets and first aid kits to everyone who had volunteered at the meeting. More would be distributed to the other shirriffs and bounders who were coming later. He’d also packed a flare gun, a crank powered flashlight, and three emergency light sticks. The vial would be in his pocket or his hand the whole time, as well as the small handgun Maggot hand handed him. Just in case.

“Promise me you’ll be safe?”

“I’ll try to be,” said Thorin, turning to look at Bilbo. “I don’t know how safe any of us can be in the Downs if they’re half as bad as you’ve all said.”

“You know what you have to do?”

“Break into the tomb and disrupt the ritual.”

Bilbo nodded, looking down at the floor. “There…there’s an altar. You need to—to take—“ he stopped, taking a few deep breaths. His hands were shaking. “…Take it off the, the slab. In the—the circle…you’ll see it,” he whispered, staring down at his hands.

“The circle?” asked Thorin softly, sitting beside Bilbo on the bed. Bilbo leaned into his side gratefully, phasing through his arm but seeming to take some strength from the contact.

“Magic circle. On the floor. The slab’s in the middle. There’s—on top of it—you, you need to—“

“Take whatever it is off the slab,” finished Thorin, lowering his head to nuzzle the top of Bilbo’s. He got a face full of static warmth.

“Yes,” whispered Bilbo. “Out of the circle.”

“And that will be enough?”

Bilbo made a soft noise in confirmation. They were silent for a few long moments, Thorin mulling over what he needed to do and Bilbo’s difficulty in telling him. 

He’d begun to suspect exactly what it was he’d find on that slab down in the tomb. It made his skin crawl and his blood boil.

Bilbo was shivering. He wished for what must have been the hundredth time that he could put his arm around the ghost, could hold him close and promise to never let go.

“You all right?” he asked instead, leaning more of his weight into Bilbo’s form.

“It’s so cold, Thorin,” murmured Bilbo, eyes unfocused. 

“Then let’s get rid of it.”

Bilbo nodded shakily, eyes shining with determination.

 

Xxx

 

“Thorin?”

Dis caught him just as he was in the doorway lacing up his boots. Bilbo stood off to the side, peering at their messy closet with interest.

“Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah, we’ll need some time to get everything together for tonight.” He grabbed his jacket down from the hanger. “Will you be heading out to the party soon?”

“Yes we will.” She cleared her throat, shifting her weight. “Fili and Kili were disappointed you couldn’t come.”

He grimaced. “I am sorry about that. You’ll send me pictures?”

Dis nodded, watching him wordlessly. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

He nodded, stepping towards her. “I will.”

Grabbing the lapels of his coat, she tugged him closer, fixing him with a glare. “You promise?”

“I promise.” He pulled her to into a hug. Immediately her arms came around him, hugging him tightly.

After a long moment she let go, pulling back to take a look at him. She sniffed and nodded. “Good. I don’t really understand what it is you’re doing or what you’re facing, but please be careful.” She smacked his arm. “And for Mahal’s sake be sensible!” 

He grinned down at her. “I will. You be careful too. It should be safe at the hall, but keep and eye on the kids just in case.”

“Of course. Not too keen for a repeat of last night.” She shuddered. Her gaze fell on Bilbo who was hanging back a few paces trying to give them some privacy. “Bilbo,” she called gently, getting his attention.

“Dis.” He nodded at her respectfully. “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality.”

She snorted, waving him off. “Nonsense. I didn’t even provide anything for you.” She gave a quick grin. “It’s hardly like you’re a picky eater, is it?”

“No, I—there is that,” he allowed with a small smile, ducking his head. “Thank you all the same for offering.”

“Hmm.” Dis watched silently for a moment before nodding to herself. “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for saving my family last night, Bilbo.”

“Oh, oh that’s really not necessary. The wraith should have never been here in the first place.”

“Nevertheless, thank you. For last night, and for my brother.”

Bilbo blinked, shooting a confused glance at Thorin. “I—I beg your pardon?”

A wide grin broke across Dis’ face. “I’ve never seen Thorin so at ease around someone before. He likes you very much, I think.”

“Dis!” growled Thorin, feeling his face begin to heat up.

She ignored him. “I’m glad he has someone to look out for him. You will try and keep him safe, won’t you?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo simply, eyes steady. “With my life. With everything I have.” 

“Good.” She nodded, a soft smile pulling at her mouth. “And take care of yourself as well, Bilbo.”

“I—“ Bilbo floundered, utterly taken aback at her concern. After a moment he nodded, visibly pulling himself together. “Thank you, Dis. You are very kind. Your whole family has been.” He glanced sidelong at Thorin.

“I’ll be expecting to see you both tomorrow, so don’t do anything foolish!”

Thorin smiled. “We’ll try our best.”

“You’d better.”

 

Xxx

 

The meeting spot they’d chosen was the Buckland Shirriff Station, just on the edge of town. It wouldn’t do to be seen driving military jeeps through Brandy Hall, especially not on Halloween.

A line of them were parked in the lot, people in shirriff and bounder uniform milling about, a few scattered paramedics mixed in. It was more people than Thorin had been expecting, just under thirty.

“Not everyone here is coming with us,” said Bilbo as they got out of the car. “Some will be going to the Hall to keep watch.”

“Are there enough?” 

“It’s more then I could have hoped for,” confessed Bilbo, brow creased in worry. “It’s less about numbers and more that everyone is prepared.”

Most here had been involved in Buckland’s security in one way or another over the years, and many had run into Bilbo before. He had shown himself at the meeting earlier as well, so it was only a small handful of people that still couldn’t see him. Stares and whispers followed in their wake, many looking at Bilbo with a mixture of awe and respect.

“Baggins! Oakenshield!” called Maggot, gesturing over to them. She was standing with the Chief Shirriff of Buckland and a slightly disgruntled Saradoc. Thorin stiffened at the sight of the Master but forced himself to be calm, even if the urge to punch him in the face was still strong. 

But if he was rude to Bilbo again, he could make no promises.

“Hullo,” greeted Bilbo with a wave. Saradoc’s mouth tightened at the sight of him but he gave a stiff nod. 

“You two will be riding upfront with myself,” said Maggot. “Chief Largo here will take the rear guard to make sure no one gets separated in the Forest.”

Bilbo nodded solemnly. “Good.”

“We get a jeep?” asked Thorin, eyebrows rising. 

Maggot grinned. “Oh yes. A normal car couldn’t get through the Old Forest with its tires intact, and that’s saying nothing of the Barrow Downs.” She turned to Bilbo. “We’ll be relying on you to find the way if things get bad.”

“Of course.”

“Best head out soon.” Largo scanned the sky darkly. “It will be dark in an hour or so. Now that everyone’s here we should make as much ground as we can before things really start up.”

“Right.” Saradoc nodded stiffly. “I’ll let you lot into the forest gate, but after that you’re on your own. I have the town to look out for.”

“Never expected otherwise,” said Maggot honestly.

“Forces from the other farthings are on their way,” he continued, folding his hands behind his back, “Stonecrow seems to have rallied. They’ll be in touch. I’ll keep an ear out in case anything goes wrong on your end.”

“Appreciated.”

“Just be careful. And get rid of that, that damned— _thing!_ ”

Maggot grinned, a glint to her steely eyes. “Oh believe me, it will be a _pleasure._ ” 

 

Xxx

 

“Fili, Kili, are you two getting ready?”

“Yes amad!”

“Do you need any help with your costumes?”

The door creaked open and Kili jumped out, dressed in a full body fuzzy wear-wolf costume with a tail and a hood. “Raaar!”

“Ahh!” cried Dis, placing a hand to her chest in shock. “A wear-wolf! Oh nooo!” Kili giggled, waving his furry paws threateningly. “Do a spin! Let’s see your tail!” He gave a little spin and toppled into his mom, hugging her around the waist. “It’s got me!” she cried, reaching down to ruffle the fake fur on his back affectionately.

“I got you!”

“Fili, is your costume on yet?”

Her eldest shuffled out wearing a pirate costume complete with a jaunty hat and a wooden sword. He even had a little eye patch. 

“Well, aren’t you a scurvy ruffian!”

Fili had been subdued the last few days, ever since hearing about the attack on his friend. Kili and Gimli both had shrugged the incident last night off as a bad dream, but Fili was old enough to remember it, and she’d worried it would take a further toll on her eldest. 

The boy turned, admiring his long coat and clunky boots. He grinned up at her. “I’m Captain Doomskull, arrr!” He seemed to be perking up despite himself. Dis smiled to see it.

“Raaar!” Kili jumped on his brother, both boys laughing and swatting at each other.

“Ahh Gimli, not so fast!” came Shuli’s voice from down the hall. 

Little Gimli came toddling down the hall as fast as he could towards the boys, a black cape swishing behind him, all dressed up in a little tuxedo with red devil horns sticking up from a headband atop his head.

“Ohh, a little devil!” cooed Dis, grinning as he barreled into her boys, the three laughing at each other’s outfits.

“He’s all decked out in a tux already,” said Shuli fondly, coming down the hall in a more sedate pace after her son. She was a Valkyrie, a huge horned helmet on her head and a white tunic with a studded belt around her waist. 

Dis had gone as a witch. Witches were her favorite. She’d dressed up as one nearly every year as a child. Now that she was older and more mature she only did it every other year. 

“Are we all ready?” asked Shuli, smiling down at the boys.

“Vili?” called Dis.

“Coming!” He’d been having some problems getting his vampire teeth to stick.

“Does Gloin think he can make it?” asked Dis quietly, not wanting to upset the children. Shuli shook her head.

“He called me. It sounds like they need him down there.”

“All right. We’d best get to the Hall, then. Make their job easier if most of us are in one place.”

 

Xxx

 

Saradoc scrambled out of his car as they reached the Old Forest Gate, walking briskly down the brick tunnel and disappearing from sight. It looked much the same as it had last Thorin was here, the huge hedge standing silent and tall, the wrought iron of the gate sticking up above the brick tunnel, and the strange watchfulness of the tangled trees locked behind.

The woods of Buckland had given him plenty of reason to be wary, but the Old Forest seemed almost worse looking at them from the gloomy twilight of the late afternoon, trees stretching out long gnarled branches like grasping hands.

There was a loud _clank_. The heavy wrought-iron gates creaked open, old and rusty, the sound too loud and unnatural in the woods. Almost as soon as the gate was open a gust of wind swept up, sweeping through the Old Forest in a low moan, boughs shifting oddly in the light of their headlights.

Saradoc hurried out of the tunnel, tucking a large ornate key in his pocket. He stopped in front of their Jeep, pale and grim-faced. 

“Godspeed.” He nodded stiffly. Then he climbed into his car and drove away, not sparring a glance back at their group.

“All right lads,” called Maggot from the front, “this is it. Remember what we talked about. This forest is old and angry and it _will_ try to get you if it can. From this point on you will see things that should not exist.” She stared back at them, shirriffs, bounders, paramedics and few volunteers. “It will try to trap you, lure you away until you are hopelessly lost and easy pickings. Here and in the Downs. Illusions. They feed off fear, and they are hungry. So stay together, keep your lights on at all times, and follow my lead or Mr. Baggins here. He won’t lead you astray.”

“If you do get separated or injured, remember your flashlights and communicators. Paramedics are on call and reinforcements are coming. Any questions?”

There were silent, only the sounds of their engines and the moaning of the trees filled the air. A flock of birds took off into the sky from the forest, cawing and crying to each other as they flew westward, fleeing whatever lay in wait deep in the tangled trees before them.

“Then into the woods we go.”

 

Xxx

 

Night was falling on Buckland, the sun that had barely peeked out from behind grey clouds swallowed by the tree line. The sky was a deep blood red, rapidly darkening now that the light was gone from the sky.

Soon, very soon it would be time.

Fog formed in the roots of trees, curling upwards and weaving its spell.

 

Xxx

 

The Buckland Halloween party was held in a large reception hall in the heart of the busiest town. It was practical for many reasons, one of the main ones being that it was well lit all around and easy to access.

This year was no different.

Outside the hall were magnificent carved pumpkins (provided by Bofur) and all sorts of spooky lighting and decorations. This was a free public event for anyone to attend. In fact, it was highly encouraged that everyone take part instead of go trick-or-treating.

All sorts of games were set up inside for the children, volunteers watching them while a dance was set up in the main area. There were lockers that could be rented out, and even a large room with cots for rent was reserved for those who wished to stay the night instead of taking the long dark roads home. Officially it was to prevent drunk driving. 

Those who had lived in Buckland long enough knew better.

Dis, Vili and Shuli had agreed to spend the night, and rented out locker space and enough cots for them to share. In light of recent events it seemed the safest thing to do, and the kids thought a sleepover was a great idea.

Discreet security guards walked the premises, looking out for troublemakers and breaking up any potential fights, though their gaze was focused more often then not on the thick wall of fog creeping ever closer then on the party goers.

Shuli slipped into the large back room where the lockers were, little Gimli in toe behind her. He had gotten spaghetti sauce all over his face in one of the party games.

“But I’s a monster!” cried Gimli as she cleaned his face with a wet wipe from her overnight bag.

“Yes you are, but you’ll be all sticky and get _flees_ if you don’t clean your face,” she teased, giving his nose a tweak.

“Amaaad! No flees! Nooo!”

“No flees,” she agreed, giving his cheeks one final wipe. “There we are, my handsome little devil!”

Gimli wandered across the room as she packed the wipes away in the bag, stuffing it back into the locker. She twisted the lock and clipped the key onto the strap of her bra. Safest place for it.

Standing she stretched, rolling her shoulders. Gimli was standing by one of the windows.

“Come on Gimli!”

He didn’t move.

“Gimli?” she frowned and walked over. Crouching down, she looked at him closely. “Hey. You wanna go back to the party, Mister?”

“Amad.”

“What?”

“Who’s that?”

Her brow furrowed. He was still looking at the window. “Who?”

She turned.

A figure was staring in at the window, face pressed against the glass. It wavered, flickering like a candle in the wind before stabilizing, eyes glowing unnaturally.

Goose bumps broke out across her skin. Heart in her throat she scooped her son up, holding him close and barring her teeth defensively at the thing. She hurried back into the main party room, bringing Gimli back to the other children playing under the watchful eyes of the volunteers.

“You stay with your cousins, all right?” she told him seriously. “Don’t wander off, and tell me or one of the nice volunteers here if you need anything or if you see something like that again, ok?”

He nodded. “M’kay.”

“Good.” Shuli pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. “I have to have a little talk with the security guards.”

Something was out there and it was watching them.

 

Xxx

 

A line of jeeps drove through the East farthing, heading towards Buckland. They had received instruction earlier from First Shirriff Stonecrow ordering a number of their more elite forces on a special mission. It was not made clear what exactly the mission was, only that they were required to enter the Barrow-Downs and follow Chief Shirriff Maggot’s commands until the crisis was over.

The Brandywine Bridge came into view, fog laying thick on the surface of the river and spilling over onto the wooden planks of the bridge.

The first jeep began to speed across, wheels giving hollow thumps over the wooden boards. Another followed behind.

A groaning _crack_ rent the air, then another and another. They were followed by yells and screams, the fierce roar of heavy engines plunging into deep murky water and spluttering out.

The bridge had cracked clear in half, pulling two jeeps and all their passengers down with them.

The others on the riverbanks scrambled out of their vehicles, running for the water and searching desperately for those in the churning rapids.

But the Brandywine was deep and the undercurrent strong. Fog lay thick and heavy, blotting out the shore and filling gasping lungs with despair and the scent of death.

A deep rattling came from the trees, shadows like grasping hands closing around their prey.

 

Xxx

 

Gnarled arms of trees passed overheard in a blur, their headlights blaring to cut through the thick heaviness of the air, shadows scattering in their wake. Great twisted roots stretched out onto the path, trying to block their way. The jeeps managed. It was anything but a smooth drive.

The path they were on came to an abrupt stop up ahead as a huge foreboding willow grew directly out of it, blocking the whole thing off.

“Stop!” cautioned Thorin.

“Bilbo?” Maggot asked, slowing but not stopping.

Eyes narrowing, Bilbo shook his head slightly, glaring fiercely ahead. “Keep going.”

“What?!”

Maggot just grinned and stepped on the gas, sending them speeding towards the huge tree. Thorin grit his teeth and prepared for impact, bringing his arms up to—

They passed right through.

“What—what was that?” He stared back the way they had came. There was no willow on the path. Only the other jeeps following along behind.

“Illusions,” said Bilbo simply, sparing him a sympathetic smile. 

“Right.” He shook his head.

Right.

 

Xxx

 

By the time they had reached the edge of the forest, Thorin thought he was about to loose it. The feeling of creeping claustrophobia had grown the longer they were under its twisted boughs, and near the end he had even begun to see horribly distorted faces leering out at him from odd twists and knots in the wood. 

More false paths had sprung up in their way, Bilbo effortlessly finding them every time and keeping them on track. Even when it had them drive through a swamp, a blazing bonfire, and most disturbingly a towering tree dripping with red sap and hanging human limbs. They’d been forced to drive right through all of them, nothing but illusions. It made his skin crawl, and he knew he wasn’t the only one so affected.

“Congratulations,” called Maggot as they slowed to a halt. “We’ve made it through the Forest.”

There was a smattering of cheers.

“And now we face the Barrow-Downs.”

Before them stretched a long barren land, foreboding hills shrouded in mist dotting the landscape. In the distance he could just make out large shapes sticking out of the ground, like tombstones. _Monoliths_ , he thought, remembering the book he’d seen. 

Something about them made his stomach twist, an icy feeling of unease growing in his chest.

The jeep started forward again, taking the worn old path down and into the hills, fog beginning to form on all sides

 

Xxx

 

Before long they were completely immersed in the fog. It was barely possible to make out more than a few feet away. But Bilbo led them on unfaltering, through the twists and turns of the Downs.

It was getting colder, and soon goose bumps had risen along his arms. Something was watching them. 

They were getting close.

“Stop!” said Bilbo.

Thorin gasped as a huge shape loomed out of the fog. A monolith. It was huge and towering, made of smooth black stone and standing out of a hill like a warning.

“This is the place,” whispered Bilbo.

“Everyone out!” called Maggot. “Get ready for an attack. Remember your flares, and do _not_ turn off your headlights!”

Thorin clambered out of the jeep, the ground strangely soft and wet under his boots. He patted his pocket, making sure he still had the vial.

“Bofur, up here!” she called. “We’ll need your help with the door.”

“O’ course!” He jogged up to them, looking unnerved but determined. Bofur's family had been miners before they’d moved, and as they’d be breaking into a barrow his experience with stonework could come in handy.

“Thorin, you know what you need to do?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then—“

A horrible shriek cut through the air. Then another.

“Here they come,” she growled.

Dark figures began to loom out of the fog, appearing from all sides. These were barrow-wights, not as strong as the wraith but still dangerous in their own right. 

“Thorin, Bofur go! We’ll cover you!”

“Right!”

They dashed off, Bilbo leading them to the path down to the tomb entrance. “This is it!"

A doorway was built out of the side of the hill. Low and squarish, a heavy stone slab blocked it off. There was no seam in sight. It must have opened from the sides of from above.

“Let's see…” muttered Bofur, running his hands over it. There were runes etched along the doorway in a language Thorin had never seen before. Something about them made him uncomfortable. Everything about this cursed place did.

Screams filled the air, dotted with gunfire.

Thorin exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Bilbo.

“I have to help them,” said Bilbo, face tense. “They’ll trick you into seeing—“ he gasped, eyes glowing.

“Bilbo?”

“It’s coming,” the ghost whispered.

“The wraith?!”

“It’s coming! It knows we’re here!”

“Bofur, can you get that thing open?” he yelled.

Bofur was riffling through his pack, producing what looked like an old type of dynamite Thorin’s ancestors had perfected back in the fourth age. “Gotcha. Just a sec.” 

“Bilbo, help the others! We’ll be fine!”

Bilbo looked as if he might argue, but another scream had him glowing, beautiful golden light pouring off him as he barreled towards the sound.

“Stand back,” cautioned Bofur, lighting the fuse. He had Thorin back up a good few paces. They waited a long few moments, the spark getting closer and closer to the dynamite. 

“Shit,” growled Thorin, spotting two shapes coming out of the fog at them. The vial was warm in his hand and he held it aloft, light spilling out and cutting through the fog. “Stay back!”

_BOOM_

He toppled to the ground, Bofur alongside him. Shaking his head he got to his feet, looking around for the wights. They were nowhere to be seen. 

The tomb door was blown wide open, hardly any damage done to the frame at all.

“Fine old blast, that,” remarked Bofur cheerfully, getting to is feet.

“Well done,” said Thorin. “Get back to the others, I’ll—“

The temperature suddenly dropped, numbing his fingers. A huge dark shadow spread across them like a cloak, cloistering and nauseating. His heart was pounding in his ears, a scream in the back of his throat, something primal telling him to run, to _run_ and never look back.

It was here.

He could feel the wraith’s presence long before he could see it. Its power had grown, sickening and twisted it crept into his mind, his body, ensnaring everything in its path under its spell.

The vial slipped from his fingers.

It was so cold.

Something rattled all around, low and deadly and hungry

 

_RUN THORIN_

Light exploded around him, the shock of it so bright he crumpled, dropping to his knees.

His head was ringing, warmth rushing back into his limbs. Shaking his head he looked up.

Bilbo.

A brightly glowing orb was holding the wraith at bay, shining brightly to ward off the huge creeping shadow swarming all around it.

Blindly he fumbled in the grass, hands closing around the vial. He held it up, adding its powerful glow to Bilbo’s.

The wraith didn’t even notice.

It was too strong.

 

_I’LL HOLD IT BACK, JUST GO_

The shadow twisted suddenly and then—Bilbo was caught, inky darkness creeping around him like fingers.

“Bilbo!”

The glowing orb flickered wildly in the grasp of the huge shadowed claw, trying to shake itself free. The wraith squeezed, tighter and tighter, more and more of the orb bloated out by its bulk.

 

_THORIN_

_THORIN I LOVE Y—_

Bilbo’s voice in his head abruptly cut off, the light snuffed like a candle.

His heart stopped, fear freezing his blood.

No

“Bilbo!” screamed Thorin desperately.

_No_

“Thorin go!” Maggot was there suddenly, torchlight in hand. She shoved him down the path towards the open door of the barrow. 

 

Xxx

 

Half blinded by grief and shock Thorin stumbled in the darkness down the steep unforgiving steps of the tomb, screams and flashing of flare guns following him down.

 _No_ , he thought again, suddenly furious. Bilbo was not gone. He _couldn’t_ be. He was bound to the wraith. If he perished, surely the wraith would do so as well. He’d just been overwhelmed. It was simply too much and he had retreated from the fight. Passed out, maybe at the worst.

The image of that beautiful warm light being smothered out nearly had him gagging. There was something terrifyingly final about it he refused to think on.

And what Bilbo had tried to say, just before—

His heart gave a painful throb, tears stinging his eyes.

 _Later_ , he vowed fiercely, _once this was over._

“Thoriiin….”

He stopped dead in his tracks, paying attention to his surroundings for the first time. That was Bilbo’s voice.

“Bilbo!?”

“Thoriiin…” came the plea again. It was faint and weak, rasping at the edges.

“Where are you?” he called, looking about desperately. He’d shoved the vial in his pocket, relying on the square of light from the open door spilling into the tomb to light his way. He was just about to fish it out again when he saw him.

Bilbo laid on the floor a few paces off the main pathway. From what he could see through the deep shadows he was bare of any clothes.

Half his skin was rotted away.

He froze, heart pounding madly.

“This is all your fault,” Bilbo rasped, shaking. “Look what you did to me….”

Snapping out of it, he darted forward. “Bilbo! Bilbo hold on!”

A sudden flash of light blinded him, and he stopped in his tracks, trying to cover his face from the harshness of the glare. There was a vicious _hisss_ from over where Bilbo lay. Forcing his eyes open, Thorin squinted against the light. It was coming from his coat pocket. The vial.

Looking up at Bilbo, Thorin gasped. He was wreathing unnaturally, form twisting away under the glare of the vial.

Illusions.

Hands shaking, Thorin lifted the vial from his pocket, raising it high. Warm glowing light filled the tomb, shadows springing back. Heart aching, he looked down at the figure on the floor.

“You’re not real.”

It hissed at him again, baring its teeth. It didn’t really look like Bilbo anymore. 

“Thoriiin…” it moaned again, twitching. “Save me, Thoriin.” It stretched out a skeletal hand at him, eyes glowing eerily.

“You’re not Bilbo,” he told it.

Snarling, it leapt at him, teeth and fingers elongating into fangs and claws. He jumped back, thrusting the vial forward as he did so. The thing wailed and melted away, dissipating into dark shadows that swirled all around him.

Shakily he took in a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then he steeled himself and waked further into the tomb, down another flight of stairs. 

There was a faint light coming from the room at the bottom. It was a sickly green glow, reeking with the musty scent of decay and death. The air felt so much heavier, as if he were miles underground, deep, deep beneath the earth. 

With clammy fingers he gripped the vial tightly and stepped into the chamber.

The glow came from a wide circle carved into the floor, a thick band of inscribed runes making up its outer rim. A stone altar stood at the far end, dark smears covering its surface, more glowing runes etched into it.

And in the middle of the room was a large stone slat.

He stared at it, heart in his throat, blood pounding in his ears. This was what Bilbo had told him about. He needed to take whatever was on the slat out of the circle to defeat the wraith.

Stepping into the glowing circle he approached the stone slab. What laid on its surface was what he had both dreaded and longed for.

The bones were grey and dull, the sickly light giving them an odd glow.

“Oh _Bilbo…_ ” 

Thorin gently laid a reverent hand on the skull, the bone cold and fragile under his palm. 

This was no illusion.

He looked so small. So alone. He squeezed his eyes shut against the hot rush of tears and softly stroked his thumb across the cheekbone. 

_Bilbo, the curly haired man with his crooked smile, kind and clever, eyes bright and teasing._

It was so cold down here, so dark and awful. He’d been down here for so long.

“Come on,” he managed, gritting his teeth. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Bilbo had been cruelly manacled to the alter, and even now the rusty metal constraints still held their captive in place, though it was only bone and not flesh caught in their grip. Thorin’s hands shook with barely controlled rage as he forced the hateful things open, worn brittle from time. From how close they were to the bone, they had must have cut painfully into the soft skin of wrists and ankles. There were markings on the bones, what looked like long scratches in some places. It was enough to make his stomach turn, a deep anger burning through him. 

He tore off his coat.

Carefully, so carefully he gathered Bilbo’s remains into it, taking care to keep the skeleton in tact, to offer what little comfort he could, even if it was too little and far too late. Miraculously the sinew was still intact, holding the bones in their places and allowing him to scope Bilbo up in a morbid mockery of a bridal hold. His heart gave a hard throb, longing and pain and anger all churning within him. 

“You’re safe now, Bilbo” he murmured into the small bundle, hands tightening protectively. “Let’s get you home.”

There was a hard tug deep in his core as he tried to step outside of the circle. It was like walking into an invisible wall. All around him the glowing runes flared viciously, the darkness flickering around sickeningly, twisting and howling.

Thorin grit his teeth, held Bilbo tighter and shoved all his weight against it.

A horrible wail rent the air, like naild down the inside of his head, scraping and tortuous. A pair of ghastly glowing eyes glared out at him from the shadows, growing hideously large, full of such rage and burning hate. 

An awful voice sounded, ancient and cruel.

 

WHAT DO YOU THINK WILL HAPPEN TO HIM WHEN YOU STEP OUT OF THAT CIRCLE?

 

DO YOU THINK HE WILL WAKE UP?

 

YOU WILL WALK OFF INTO THE SUNRISE AND HAVE YOUR HAPPY ENDING? 

 

The words seemed to echo, coming from everywhere at once, dark and cruel, clawing at him as if they were a physical force.

 

IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK? 

 

YOU ARE WRONG

 

THERE IS ONLY DEATH FOR HIM OUT THERE

 

“You can’t have him,” snarled Thorin, hands shaking. “He’s not yours and he never will be!”

 

YOU THINK HIM YOURS, DO YOU?

 

I AM THE ONLY THING KEEPING HIM ALIVE

 

YOU ARE KILLING HIM

 

AND YOU PRETEND TO LOVE HIM

 

IF YOU TRULY LOVED HIM YOU WOULD LEAVE HIM HERE WHERE HE WILL LIVE FOREVER

 

“Get fucked!” roared Thorin, tears blurring his eyes. “You’ve already killed him!”

It laughed, an awful sound that rippled all through the tomb and made his ears ring and his skin crawl. 

 

WE BOTH KNOW THERE IS ONLY ONE ENDING TO THIS

 

YOU COULD NEVER SAVE HIM

 

ONLY I CAN DO THAT

 

ALL YOU CAN GIVE HIM IS DEATH

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned his face away from the wraith, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Bilbo felt so fragile in his arms, nothing but bones and dust wrapped in his jacket. 

 

GIVE HIM BACK TO ME

 

IT IS THE ONLY WAY HE WILL LIVE ON

 

IT IS WHAT IS BEST FOR HIM

 

Thorin took a shaky breath, the scent of decay and despair thick all around. It was cold. So cold… 

He opened his eyes. 

“I’m taking him home, you piece of filth,” he growled, eyes blazing. With everything he had, he pushed against the invisible force holding him back inside the circle. He felt something give and he inched forward.

 

W A I T

 

S T O P

YO U W I L L KIL L H IM

 

YO U A R E KI LL I NG H I M

 

Y OU WI L L N EV ER SE E H IM A G AI N

 

I S TH A T W H AT Y OU W A N T

 

S T O P

S T O P

 

H E W I L L D I E

 

With a sob he broke free of the hold and stumbled over the edge of the circle, Bilbo cradled safely in his arms.

The pale witch-light flickered, the air shuddering and twisting wildly, shadows lengthening. Thorin held Bilbo to his chest and ran, everything shaking and rumbling.

And the tomb crumbled behind him.

 

Xxx

 

Outside an ominous rumbling filled the air, the ground shaking dizzily. With a sickening _crack_ the monolith atop the tomb began to crumble, folding on itself. It toppled to the ground in a huge cloud of black dust, the barrow sinking into the earth.

All around the fog began to lift, patches of starlight breaking through.

Xxx

 

Panting, Thorin stood in the night air, just breathing it in for a long moment. The weight in his arms brought him back to himself. He looked back at the ruined tomb, nothing but rubble and mess.

“Look, there’s Thorin!”

“Thorin!”

He paid little mind to the voices coming closer, thinking only of the sleight weight in his arms and the terrible words of the wraith still echoing mockingly in his ears.

“The wraith is gone!”

“We’ve done it!”

“Where’s Bilbo?”

“Thorin, are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. Thorin made his way over to clear patch of grass, well away from the debris of the fallen monolith. In a patch of moonlight he gently laid his burden down, letting the gentle light fall on his bones. 

Bilbo had been in the dark so long. 

“Has anyone seen Bilbo?” came a call.

“…last saw him before the barrow collapsed…”

“...do you think he...”

“…same magic that kept the wraith here…”

“Must have passed on…”

“Thorin?” Shirrif Maggot was standing beside him. She was cradling her right arm, blood soaking through her coat. She smiled thinly at him, gaze falling to his coat. Understanding dawned in her eyes.

“Bilbo?” she asked gently.

Swallowing heavily, he bowed his head, tears leaking out from behind his closed eyes.

“We...need to take him home,” he managed. He knew he ought to see Bilbo properly buried, but the thought of putting him back in the ground made him sick. He’d spent enough time in a damned tomb.

It wasn’t fair.

“Yes.” Maggot placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’s the least he deserves.”

“Thorin!” called Bofur, jogging up to them. “There you are! I can’t believe you—“ He spotted the bones. His face paled rapidly. “Is that…?”

“Yes.”

“Is he still, still here?” There was a twinge of desperation in his voice.

“I don’t know,” said Thorin honestly. The words of the wraith continued to echo in his head, taunting him. _You've killed him_. He squeezed his eyes shut against it.

A dull roar filled the air. Maggot stepped back, squinting at the sky. “Finally. Reinforcements are here.”

Helicopters passed overhead, spotlights rolling over the downs, searching for a spot to land.

“Thorin.” There was an odd catch to Bofur’s voice. “Thorin—look!”

He opened his eyes.

Moonlight fell on Bilbo’s bones, casting them in a gentle, pulsing glow. They were hazy somehow. He rubbed his eyes, trying to chase the blurriness from them. It lingered, only growing stronger.

“What?”

Slowly, so slowly, the pale grey of bone faded away, warmer tones filling in gently. What was first nothing more than a faint impression became something firmer.

Thorin’s heart pounded madly in his chest as he stared down at his coat.

It could not be.

“Bless me,” Bofur whispered, taking off his hat.

“Illusions,” murmured Maggot, awe in her voice. 

With shaking hands he reached down and touched the apparition. His fingers met cold, smooth skin. Hardly daring to breathe, he fumbled for the pulse point on Bilbo’s neck, heart pounding wildly in his ears.

_Please_

_Please_

A heartbeat met his fingers, faint and weak, but there.

A sob caught in his throat.

“He’s alive,” he breathed, hardly daring to believe it was real.

“By the stones,” murmured Bofur, eyes wide.

“He’s alive,” said Thorin again, huffing a disbelieving laugh. 

But he was so cold. 

“I need a medical assistance, now!” he yelled, gathering his coat tighter around Bilbo’s naked body and holding him close.

For the first time, golden curls ticked his nose

 

Xxx

The helicopters landed, spilling light all over the barren lands and chasing out the shadows. Those with injuries were loaded aboard, and then they took off again, flying over the dark bramble that was the Old Forest.

Thorin watched the Downs and the forest fall away beneath him, nothing more than a bad dream. Bilbo’s hand was clutched tightly in his own, the machine he was hooked up to showing his pulse, slow but steady. Far to the east the pale light of dawn was beginning to glow, chasing away the shadows and the terrors of the night.

It was time for those things to be buried, once and for all.

“You’re safe, Bilbo,” he whispered, bringing the limp hand up to his lips. 

Cold fingers twitched in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
> 
> A bit late in the day, but I got it done on time!! :DDD 
> 
> This is officially the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue! I put them through so much angst, I think they need a nice long chapter of fluff, you know? ;)
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to those of you who have stuck with this story for THREE YEARS you guys are the best for putting up with my awful updating schedule! Any thank you everyone else who has left such kind comments, you really kept me going! <333


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter of Golden Fog!  
> (it's almost entirely fluff)

Thorin’s back was sore. Scratches and nicks littered his fingers, his foot throbbed duly, and a headache lurked behind his eyes. Hunger curled low in his belly, flaring up angrily before waning in steady waves. The hard plastic of the chair pressed uncomfortably into his back and side.

All of this he stubbornly ignored, attention focused entirely on the figure laying so cold and so still on the bed before him.

Bilbo was alive. 

He was alive and safe and he was going to wake up.

He _had_ to.

His fingers seemed so small, so cold where his own were wrapped around them. Every so often they would move, just slightly, sending Thorin’s heart pounding away, eyes flitting up to his face hopefully. Sometimes Bilbo would twitch, brows knitting together, lips half shaping words. But always he fell limp again, pulled back under into exhausted slumber, leaving Thorin to whisper softly to him and worry the small hand between his own.

Somehow his world had narrowed down to this, the soft beeps and whirls of the hospital equipment, the cold hand in his own and the slight rise and fall of Bilbo’s chest.

It had been two days and the better part of three nights since Bilbo had been brought to the hospital. 

He had yet to wake.

They didn’t know if he would.

Upon arrival, Bilbo had been taken immediately to a private room and treated by a team of doctors and specialists, all filled in on the situation. Some strings had been pulled somewhere, by Maggot or Saradoc or some other official. Thorin didn’t know and didn’t particularly care, so long as it meant Bilbo was taken care of. 

And that they accepted Thorin would not be leaving.

That had been Maggot.

Once the initial swarm of activity their arrival caused died down and Thorin was left alone with Bilbo, the Shirriff had come, looking more tired and more grey then Thorin had ever seen her. He suspected he had looked much the same. 

“They’re bringing a cot for you," she told him. "Didn’t look like you wanted to be separated from Bilbo just yet.”

Thorin hadn’t reacted well when someone had tried to forcibly pull him from the room. “Sorry about that.”

Maggot shrugged. “Just a broken nose. Nothing the nursing staff can’t handle.”

He grunted in response. She came and stood beside him, looking down at Bilbo, pale and bruised and real, impossibly miraculously _real_. 

“It’s over,” she said quietly, resting a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “We’ve cleared out the downs. There’s a paranormal expert from Rivendell coming to check it over just in case, but I doubt they’ll find anything. The fog’s lifted.”

He let out a long slow breath. His family was safe. The wraith was gone, and it would never hurt anyone else again, would never hurt—never hurt _Bilbo_ again.

Perhaps he should have felt relieved or triumphant. Thorin just felt tired, right down to his bones.

Somehow it didn’t feel like a victory. Not yet. Not with Bilbo laying still as death.

“You got him out,” she said.

Thorin took a shaky breath. “Was it enough? To save him.”

Maggot huffed. “I’ve known Bilbo for years. He may be one of the kindest, strongest people I know. But he’s definitely the most stubborn.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “If you think he’s going to give up now, after fighting all those years out of pure _spite_ , then you don’t know him at all.”

Thorin huffed an exhausted laugh then, more of a sob then anything.

“He is that,” he managed, worrying the cold hand in his own.

 

Xxx

 

The doctors didn’t know what to expect. 

It wasn’t surprising, all things considered. This was a completely unprecedented case. They didn’t have anything to go on. 

Bilbo’s vital signs had been low, pulse a thick, sluggish thing, breaths barely pushing their way past his lips. But even in the time since he’d fist appeared in the downs, solid and so impossibly real, even from when he’d first been committed to the hospital, he had stabilized. After much head shaking and bewildered checking and re-checking the equipment, the doctors had confirmed it. 

He was physically recovering.

That Bilbo was alive at all was a miracle. Even more so was that his wounds had little lasting damage. No matter how Thorin looked at it, all evidence pointed at Bilbo being tortured. He had been tortured _badly_ , cruelly, possibly to the point of death. And then the wraith had come in and set things in motion.

The only explanation he could think of that allowed Bilbo to be alive at all was the magic circle. 

Whatever connection had been between Bilbo and the wraith, whatever power was gained from the cruel ritual—it seemed tied to the circle. As long as Bilbo had remained in the circle the wraith leached off his energy to prey on others. And as long as Bilbo remained in the circle, his physical body kept all of the damage done to it there.

But once removed…

When he’d taken Bilbo from the magic’s hold, what damage was done to him there remained behind.

More or less.

Soft covers were tucked carefully around Bilbo’s frame. His eyes roamed over the dips and rises of his body, straying to where an arm peeked out, hand held in his own. 

He hadn’t noticed at first—too overwhelmed at having Bilbo _real_ and solid in his arms—but once the paramedics had started on him, once they’d seen what they were dealing with, it became clear that Bilbo bore markings of his ordeal. It was likely he always would.

Angry red lines webbed out from Bilbo’s palm, raised flesh twisting along up the inside of his arm. Hidden from sight, Thorin would never forget his first glimpse of Bilbo’s chest, skin pale and near grey under the awful clusters of red risen skin, hinting at a much deadlier injury. 

They had begun to fade, the markings, even since Bilbo had been brought here. With any luck the terrible markings of Bilbo’s ordeal would fade, like any scar would. Thorin would have them gone entirely, though he knew it was unlikely.

Bilbo was recovering and he would take comfort in that.

They wouldn’t know how deeply the damage ran until he woke up. If he woke up. How much of Bilbo had survived two-hundred years of torture and pain was yet to be seen. Nerve damage was a very real possibility. So was loss of motor ability and dexterity, and that was to say nothing of emotional and mental trauma. If Bilbo woke up, he may not be the same. They simply couldn’t know. They had explained all of this to Thorin, as gently as they could. 

It hadn't helped.

A soft sound woke him from his dark thoughts. Jerking his head up, he stared at Bilbo, desperate for something, _any_ sign of his waking. The heart monitor beat steadily. Bilbo’s eyelids twitched, his brow troubled. Behind the oxygen mask the man made another slight sound.

“Bilbo?” tried Thorin, cradling the cold hand in his own and stroking his thumb along the knuckles carefully.

Bilbo sighed, face clearing, and seemed to sink deeper into the bed.

Thorin let out a long breath and raised the limp hand to his lips, mouthing whatever prayers and pleas he could into the back of it.

He _had_ to wake up.

 

Xxx

 

The days passed and Bilbo slept on, his wounds slowly healing and the terrible grey of his skin gaining some colour at last. 

Thorin had yet to leave Bilbo’s side for more then a quick run to the bathroom and to force some tasteless food down his throat. He refused to be any further then down the hall from him.

He knew his family was worried. Dis had been in that first day to see him, trying to cox him back to her place for a warm meal and to sleep. Thorin had refused, unable to leave. Then Vili and Gloin and Shuli had come along as well, sending awed glances at Bilbo and pitying ones at Thorin when they thought he couldn’t see. Still, Thorin would not be moved. 

His memories of those first few days were foggy, made more so by his unwillingness to sleep and the restless, awful dreams that gripped him when he did.

Somehow, the windowsill had acquired flowers. He couldn’t remember who had brought them or when, but he was glad they were there. Bilbo mentioned he had a garden. No doubt he would appreciate them, a cheerful burst of colour in the pale, off-white room.

He would appreciate them more were awake to see them, instead of drifting somewhere between life and death.

So Thorin remained where he was, keeping silent watch over Bilbo’s slumbering form and hoping and praying he would wake.

It seemed there was only so much Dis was willing to put up with. Four days after Bilbo had been brought to the hospital, there was a new visitor.

“Thorin?”

He stilled, blinking blearily at the familiar voice. “Dwalin?”

“Hey.” It was Dwalin. He was slightly out of breath, a heavy backpack slung over his shoulder and his jacket hanging half open. “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Flight was a right bugger.”

Thorin could only stare at him. Dwalin took that as an invitation and sat himself down in the seat beside him at the bed with a sigh. He bumped his shoulder against Thorin’s, reassuringly solid and gruff as he’d always been.

“Is that…Mahal.” Dwalin paled, looking at the frail figure of Bilbo Baggins in awe. “That’s really is him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” managed Thorin.

“You saved him.”

Thorin swallowed, bitter anger and helplessness churning in his stomach. He had tried to save Bilbo. But he wasn’t saved, was he? 

What if the wraith had been right?

Had he condemned Bilbo to death? As long as Bilbo remained in the circle he had been _himself_ , able to move about and talk freely in that charming way of his. Preserved, in a way. 

What was he now but a corpse waiting to be buried?

The sharp edges of his fingernails cut into the skin of his palms with how tightly he was clenching them. 

_No._

He would not give up on Bilbo. Not yet. Not ever.

Dwalin’s hand, warm and heavy on his shoulder brought him out of his dark thoughts.

“They don’t—don’t know if he’ll wake up,” Thorin choked out, fighting back angry tears. 

Next moment he was pulled into a fierce hug. It was crushing, just this side of too tight, forcing the breath from his lungs. It was exactly what he needed.

“Dwalin,” he said into his chest. “They-they _tortured_ him, Dwalin.” The arms around him tightened. “He was down there for so long.”

“They can’t hurt the lad anymore.”

“I had to—I held his _bones_ , Dwalin. I carried him out of that damned tomb. I’m not going to put him back in one!”

“Hey. No. That’s not goin’ to happen. You did everythin’ you could, all right? And if that wee ghostie hung on for that long, I don’t think he’ll be givin’ up now.” Dwalin pulled back to cuff him gently across the head. “Not when he’s got your mug waitin’ for him, aye?”

“What if he never wakes up?” asked Thorin miserably, staring at his cousin’s collar.

“Then we’ll deal with that if it comes to it. But for now, we’ve got to get you somethin’ to eat. You think he’s going to want to wake up and see you lookin’ half-dead?”

Thorin glared. “I won’t leave him—”

“Never said you should. Just—let’s step out into the hall for a minute, aye? Got you a protein bar and a sandwich if you’re up to it.” He dragged his backpack around and rummaged through it, pulling out a wrapped sandwich. “See?” He waved it at Thorin temptingly. It was a little squashed, but Thorin's stomach rumbled treacherously at the sight of it anyway.

Thorin grunted and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “’M not hungry,” he said, ignoring his stomach’s protesting.

“Come on.” Dwalin gave him a little shake. “How’re you gonna to take care of him if you’re fallin' apart? Didn’t think of that, did you, inspector Oakenshield, eh?”

That…was a fair point. He grunted again and let Dwalin pull him away from the bed, eyes trailing over Bilbo worriedly the whole time.

“We’ll sit right across from the door,” said Dwalin as he lead him out of the room. “You’ll know if anythin’ happens.”

“Coffee?” Thorin asked hopefully as he sat down on the hard tiles of the hallway floor.

“’Course. There’s a machine at the end of the hall. I’ll grab us a cup.” He patted Thorin on the arm to keep him where he was.

“Dwalin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Dwalin huffed and nudged him with his foot. “’S what cousins are for. Ye daft old lump.”

For the first time in days, Thorin smiled.

 

Xxx

 

Running a hand over his face, Thorin sighed, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He’d drifted off in the chair, startling awake from an unpleasant dream some time later. Hardly an unusual occurrence these days.

Stretching his legs, he arched his back and groaned at the soreness he felt. He could sleep in the cot not a foot behind him. But holding Bilbo’s hand grounded him, gave him a sense of comfort that even the luxury of lying down could not. Every night he tried to put off leaving Bilbo for as long as he could, staying for just a few more minutes and then just a few more until he was half asleep in the chair. Eventually he would give in and spend a few hours passed out on the cot if he was lucky. If he wasn't he would toss and turn before calling it a loss and returning to the chair, clutching the soft hand between his own like a lifeline. 

Leaning back in his seat he craned his neck just so to get a glimpse at the analogue clock set high in the wall behind him.

Four twenty-seven, it read. Mahal. It was probably time to try his luck with the cot.

A soft sound from the bed stopped him.

Bilbo’s eyelids were fluttering.

“Bilbo?”

His hands tightened around the smaller one in his grasp, heart giving a wild thump. Bilbo sucked in a shaky breath, eyes fluttering weakly as they struggled open.

Awake. He was awake.

The words of the doctor raced through his mind, that they had no idea what to expect. Memories, faces, names, even words, Bilbo could have lost them all. He’d have to be gentle, patient, not expect too much and certainly not right away.

"Bilbo," he said softly, as if it were the only word left in the world. 

Fighting back the crushing panic and elation spiraling out of control, he searched Bilbo’s beautiful half opened eyes for any spark of recognition, of that same clever, playful, wonderful man he had come to love.

“…warm…” His breath stuttered, voice barely more then a whispered sigh.

“Bilbo.” 

“It…s-so warm...” Bilbo’s eyes met his own. They were bright with tears, full of such wondering disbelief it was hard to look upon.

Thorin swallowed hard. “Yes.” 

Shutting his eyes, tears leaked down Bilbo’s face, dissolving into the pillow silently. He lay back, shaking. Utterly overwhelmed.

“Thor _in_.” 

His name was half sobbed, cutting him to the core. He had to forcibly remind himself not to climb onto the bed and hold the smaller man to his chest as he so desperately wanted. It could disrupt the machinery or jostle Bilbo, and the last thing he ever wanted was to cause this beautiful man more pain. 

“You’re safe, Bilbo,” whispered Thorin. A sob slipped from Bilbo’s lips. He rested his cheek against the pillow, facing Thorin. Watery hazel eyes met his own, full of so much gratitude. So much _love_. “You never have to go back there again.”

“You…you got me out,” he managed, voice a raspy warble. 

_Fuck it._

As carefully as he could he leaned down and slipped an arm under Bilbo’s neck and shoulders, hugging him to his chest. Bilbo leaned gratefully into the touch, sobbing weakly into his shoulder, solid and real and so unbelievably beautiful.

“You’re _safe_ , Bilbo.” He pressed a kiss to those golden curls as he had dreamt of doing for so long, the soft fuzz ticking against his face. Bilbo keened into his shoulder, shaking as he cried out two-hundred years of exhaustion and pain.

Thorin held him through it, pressing kisses to his forehead and thanking whatever deity had granted him this, had allowed him _Bilbo_ , here, alive and himself, safe in his arms.

 

Xxx

 

“Well Mr. Baggins, it seems everything is in order.”

Bilbo let out a low breath, slumping back against the pillows. Thorin ran his thumb over Bilbo’s knuckles, hand clutched between his own. Bilbo’s fingers curled against his palm in response, slow and ticklish.

It had been a long day of doctors and specialists running Bilbo through tests and asking him questions when he could stay awake long enough to answer them. Bilbo had done what he could, trying to be helpful, but he was clearly overwhelmed and exhausted.

“Your injuries are healing nicely,” continued the doctor. “You have a low fever but nothing dangerous. We’ll start you on physiotherapy, get your muscles up and moving again, rebuild your strength. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” said Bilbo slowly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

The doctor smiled kindly. “I imagine it would be. It’s good for you to rest. Your body seems to be recovering all on its own, and resting will only help it along. We’ll go slowly.”

“Thank you,” whispered Bilbo, eyes drooping shut.

Thorin squeezed his hand comfortingly. The smaller hand in his own squeezed back.

 

Xxx

The sun had just started to rise the next morning when Bilbo received his first visitors.

Maggot shuffled into the room, Chief Shirriff Largo trailing behind her.

“Hullo Thorin.” She nodded at the bed where Bilbo was half reclining. “Heard someone woke up.”

“Iris?” asked Bilbo, staring up at them.

Maggot smiled widely, walking over to the side of the bed opposite Thorin. She took Bilbo’s hand. “Well, look who’s decided to join us in the world of the living.”

“Literally,” added Shirriff Largo cheerfully, following her.

Bilbo smiled shyly. “Hello.”

“How are you feeling, Bilbo?” asked Maggot.

He huffed, looking up at them both with shining eyes. “All right. Just exhausted. But are _you_ all right?” His eyes trailed over them worriedly. Maggot’s arm was in a sling, a half scabbed-over cut slicing across her cheek. Largo had no visible injuries, but he’d limped a little while walking. Bilbo’s eyes hardened. “How many?" he asked quietly. "How many did we loose?”

“Far less then expected,” Maggot said firmly. “Only two of our immediate group. The rest are expected to fully recover.” 

Thorin had heard what happened to the reinforcements coming from the rest of the Shire. He knew the Brandywine Bridge had given out on them, knew that they'd lost nearly ten to the river, a handful of others surviving with severe cases of hypothermia and shock. If Maggot made no mention of them, neither would Thorin. Bilbo would hear about it later, when he wasn't quite so frail and weak and liable to blame himself for it all.

Maggot fixed Bilbo with a hard glare. “You gave us all quite a fright, Bilbo. I’ll thank you not to do it again.” 

He looked down at the covers. “Sorry.”

Her eyes softened. “Especially as you’re no longer a ghost. Can’t be scaring us all now, can you?” She rubbed his hand, watching him carefully as small smile crept across his face. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” said Bilbo softly, looking as if he hardy believed it himself.

Giving his hand a final pat she moved aside, Shirriff Largo shuffled over and engulfing Bilbo’s hand with his own. “Can’t tell you how glad we all were to hear you woke up. The lads have been asking about you all week.”

“Oh! Have they?“

He scoffed. “Of course they have! You’re something of a celebrity, Mr. Baggins.”

Thorin grinned as Bilbo shut his eyes in embarrassment. “Oh _no._ ”

“Oh yes. Good for moral!” He tapped his nose conspiringly. “Better, now that you’re with us.”

Bilbo was silent for a long moment. “Did it…did it work?” he asked, watching them anxiously. “I can’t feel the wraith anymore. It _is_ gone, isn’t it?”

“It’s dead, right and proper,” assured Largo firmly.

Maggot nodded. “The downs have been crawling with our people, checking for any signs of it, of any type of activity at all. We’ve even had professionals from Rivendell take a look. There’s nothing left. It’s gone, Bilbo. It can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Bilbo slumped, sinking into the mattress in relief. “Good.” He met Thorin’s eyes and tentatively reached out for his hand. Thorin took it instantly, covering it with both of his own. “ _Good_.”

The silence was broken by someone entering the room.

It was Saradoc.

They all stared at him. He stared back, eyes fixed on Bilbo, pale and bruised, but very much aware. Very much _alive_ , Thorin’s hands still wrapped around his own, solid and real. 

“Hullo,” offered Bilbo warily.

Saradoc swallowed and gave a jerky nod. He placed a paper bag on a chair against the wall and promptly turned on his heel, striding out into the hallway and leaving as swiftly as he had come.

“Well.” Bilbo released a long breath.

Largo whistled. “Blimey. What was that about?”

“Coming to see if the rumors were true?” muttered Thorin. He did not feel terribly kindly towards the Master of Buckland, and until he chose to treat Bilbo civilly that wasn’t about to change in a hurry.

“That, I believe,” said Maggot, rummaging through the bag he had left, “was a peace offering. Look.”

She emptied the bag out on the overbed table. 

There was a stack of official looking papers held together by an elastic band. On top was a thick leather wallet. Bilbo opened it carefully, fingers fumbling with the clasp. He peered at the insides blankly.

“What is it?” asked Thorin, craning his neck. Wordlessly Bilbo passed it over.

“…An ID card?”

“Knew it,” said Maggot. “Let me see.” She looked over the card gleefully, chuckling to herself. “It's authentic all right. Here: ‘Bilbo Baggins, age Thirty-One, resident of the Shire, Buckland.’” She looked up at him proudly. “That’s you. You’re an official citizen now, Mr. Baggins.”

“Health Card, Social Security Number,” listed Largo, going through the rest of the wallet. “He’s given you a bank card, he has. Looks like you’ve an account with the Bank of Buckland. Not bad.”

Bilbo spluttered. “But—how—why?!”

Maggot grinned. “It’s his way of saying thank you, I guess. Or sorry. For being a prick.”

Largo snorted. “Both.”

Thorin put his arm around Bilbo when it looked like he might start crying, pulling him close. He leaned into his weight gratefully, squeezing Thorin's hand in thanks.

“Says here the town’s set you up as an employee,” noted Largo, reading one of the documents.

“What?” managed Bilbo, running a hand across his eyes. 

“They’re paying you back for the ‘invaluable and innumerable services you’ve performed for the town’.”

Peering over his shoulder, Maggot sniggered. “Oh my, that’s a lot of monthly payments they have to catch up on.”

“Looks like you’re all set then, Bilbo.”

Bilbo stared down wordlessly at the wallet full of cards, the documents, all quietly securing his future, anchoring him _here_ , in this world he could touch and feel, free of the awful shadow that had trapped him for so long. 

“Have you given any thought to what you might do?” asked Largo. “Not that’s there’s any hurry, of course.” 

“Of course not,” said Maggot firmly. “You can do whatever you like. You needn’t work a day in your life if you don’t want to thanks to this. I daresay you've earned it.”

A strange look came across Bilbo’s face. “…I used to write,” he said, as if remembering something long ago. The he huffed. “It’s been ages, though. I’ll be dreadfully out of practice.”

“You could clear your name.”

Everyone turned to look at Maggot. 

“Write about what really happened,” she continued evenly. “You’re the only one who knows. Those records have all been lost.”

“Those bastards that set the whole thing up,” growled Thorin, latching onto the idea. He had been thinking it himself, wanting _someone_ to pay for what had been done to Bilbo, all the pain and suffering he had endured. “You could expose them. Properly.”

Bilbo let out a long sigh. “I—I want to. I want them to be held accountable,” he confessed quietly. “But they’re all dead. The ones that performed the ritual were killed instantly.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a mirthless smile. “They thought the wraith would give them power. It only saw them as a meal.”

“What about the shirriffs?” pressed Thorin.

He sniffed. “What about them? They’re long dead by now. All it would do is hurt their families. And I don’t want to damage the reputation of the shirriffs here in the Shire.”

Largo shook his head. “I’m with Thorn here. If one of my shirriffs thought they could get away with bribery and kidnapping I’d want them charged with it. It wasn’t acceptable then and it’s certainly not now.”

“I…I’ll think about it.”

Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand. “If you do decide to write it, you won’t be alone.” Bilbo looked at him. “I’ve done some digging, and so has Dwalin. And there’s a journalist I know back in the Blue Mountains who would be only too happy to help as well.”

“Oi!” said Largo, “Leave that to the Shire shirriffs! If it’s going to be done it has to be done properly. Can’t have foreign detectives snooping around in our business. Er-no offense.”

“You could always transfer to the Shire, Thorin,” said Maggot innocently. “If you’re so set on it. Solve a lot of problems, I bet.”

A blush crawled up the back of Thorin’s neck. He cleared his throat. “I…have given it some thought. Transferring here is beginning to look more and more appealing.” He looked down at Bilbo, eyes soft. Bilbo flushed, visibly pleased and embarrassed in equal parts. 

Largo laughed. “The Shire will be glad to have you if you do!” 

“Thank you.”

Maggot tapped one of the documents. “Bilbo, there’s also the matter of your property.” 

Bilbo blinked. “What property? Everything I owned was auctioned off. Bag End went to my cousins.”

“Mmm. Against your will.” Maggot scanned through a stapled stack of papers. “Says here you stated in your will that Bag End was to go to your cousin Drogo Baggins, or his son Frodo on account of your death. It went to a certain Sackville-Baggins instead.” She looked to him for confirmation.

He sighed, slumping. “They overruled it. Said I wasn’t in my right mind when I made the change.”

Thorin's arm tightened around him. "Bastards."

“Yes, well, according to this," continued Maggot, "it was done unlawfully and therefore does not stand.”

"What?"

Maggot looked up at Bilbo, eyes bright. “Bag End is still yours. And there’s a list of possessions here that are yours as well should you wish to claim them.”

He gaped at her, shaking his head in a jerky moment. “That—it’s not—“

Largo chuckled, slapping his thigh. “There! It’s only right that justice be done. Even if it is two-hundred years late. It’s not often we can do as much.”

Groaning, Bilbo covered his face with his hands. “This is too much!”

“You needn’t sort it all out today.”

“Not at all! Take all the time you need.”

Huffing, Bilbo looked up, tired but resolute. “If it’s all the same, I’d like things to remain as they are. Bag End can go to the town. Make it a preservation site or something. Officially, this time. It wouldn’t be right to live in it again. I need to move on.”

Maggot hummed. “Not a bad idea.”

“Isn’t Bag End already listed as a historical preservation?” wondered Largo.

“I heard they tried, but it was condemned on account of being haunted,” said Thorin pointedly, giving Bilbo a nudge.

Bilbo coughed, fidgeting with his sleeve. “Ah. Well. Doubt they’ll have problems with that anymore.”

“No?”

“Oh _hush_.”

 

Xxx

 

Word that Bilbo was awake spread quickly.

Bofur was one of the first to visit, Bombur and Bifur in toe. It was a tearful reunion, and Bilbo was hugged and scolded and had his curls gently ruffled within an inch of his life. Thorin stepped out of the room to give them some privacy. When he came back it was to find Bilbo teary-eyed but happy. 

Happy was a good look on him. It was one that Thorin wanted to see as often as possible.

Thorin’s own family came next. They didn’t want to overwhelm Bilbo with too many visitors all at once, so Dis went first. 

They talked quietly, Dis thanking Bilbo for keeping her brother safe and for coming back. Bilbo looked near tears again, as he often was these days.

From the way Dis was looking at Bilbo, still so frail and pale, he just knew the infamous Durin protective instincts had blazed viciously into life. He chuckled under his breath as Dis hugged Bilbo gently, fussing with his blankets and insisting he come over for dinner when he was well enough. 

Dwalin had been particularly amusing to watch. Out of all of them, Dwalin perhaps had inherited the largest share of the protective instinct (though he would insist that honour went to Thorin.) 

He got the impression Dwalin had wanted to give Bilbo some kind of shovel talk about not hurting Thorin, but when actually faced with Bilbo he had all but melted. Dwalin had spoken softly, taking his hand gently and thanking him for looking out for Thorin, promising that if Bilbo ever needed anything he need only ask.

“Softie,” teased Thorin, elbowing his cousin in the ribs.

“Look who’s talking,” hissed Dwalin, elbowing him back harder.

Thorin just grinned, too pleased to care.

Flowers and cards soon filled the room, cluttering up the windowsill in cheerful colours and shapes. Thorin took great pleasure in arranging them, laying out all the praise and well-wishes for Bilbo to see.

Bilbo stared at them in wonder from the bed. “But…I don’t understand. Who are they all _from?_ ”

Thorin picked a card off the sill, flipping it open. “This one is from a Mrs. Fairchild. She says she wants to thank you for saving her daughter’s life and hopes you get better soon. Her daughter’s signed it as well. Oh. Remember Lila, from the marches? You did save her.”

“Oh! She’s awake?”

“Yes, and getting better every day, it says.”

“Oh good.” 

“This one is from a Harris Hornblower. He says you saved his life when he was a boy, and, eh—” he squinted at the messy writing, “he says if you come to his bar everything is on the house. He’d be honoured to buy you a drink.”

Bilbo pressed a hand to his mouth.

“The big one here is from Maggot.” It was nearly as tall as little Gimli and full of messages. “Look, she’s got nearly all the shirriffs and bounders to sign it.”

“Goodness me.”

“Here’s—ah.”

“What?” asked Bilbo.

He held up a small card. “Saradoc. He’s sent you a get-well card.”

“What does it say?” asked Bilbo cautiously.

Thorin flipped it open. “Get well soon. And he’s signed it. I think. It’s an awful signature if that’s what it is.”

Bilbo giggled. “Thoughtful of him.”

Another large card was next. Thorin studied it. “This is from a school. Hayfield Elementary. Seems a few of the staff there know you and reached out to the students. Some of them have written you messages.” He looked up, catching Bilbo’s gaze. “There’s a lot of them thanking you, Bilbo.”

“It’s…” Bilbo foundered. “Thorin, it’s too much!”

“Absolutely not.” He picked up the next card. “This is from Rushey General Hospital. Ah, that nurse we met, Astrid. Looks like she got most of the medical workers to sign this.”

“Oh no, they shouldn’t have.”

“And it’s them who’ve sent you the oliphaunt.”

“What?”

It was a small plush animal, all soft and grey, shaped like a baby oliphaunt. He picked it up and placed it gently on the bed next to Bilbo's knee, facing him.

“Oh.” Bilbo reached out, hands shaking slightly. He stroked the soft fur of it's trunk, blinking back tears. “It—it’s very kind of them.”

Thorin sat down beside him, letting Bilbo tuck himself close under his arm.

“I don’t deserve this,” said Bilbo wretchedly.

Thorin kissed the top of his head, holding him closer. “Yes, you do. You deserve all this and more.”

He let out a long sigh and turned his face into Thorin’s chest, closing his eyes tiredly. “How are you so kind?” he mumbled, sniffling.

“You inspire me,” whispered Thorin, giving him a squeeze.

He snorted. “ _Stop_ , you big, lovely man." 

“Never.”

Bilbo looked up, close and warm at his side, eye bright with so much affection, so much love.

There wasn’t anything Thorin could do but kiss him. 

It was a soft, gentle press of lips. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered, a soft sound escaping him before he returned the action, moving against Thorin’s lips with his own. It was clumsy and a bit wet, and was Bilbo crying again softly, nuzzling against him. 

And it was everything Thorin had ever wanted. 

 

Xxx

 

Coming back from an quick laundry run, Thorin entered the hospital. Now that Bilbo was awake and regaining strength, he had managed to get himself to leave the hospital. Just short excursions. He couldn’t handle being away for longer then an hour or two. Currently it had been just under fifty minutes since he had walked out the doors, but it wasn’t like he was counting.

Thorin slowed his pace as he neared Bilbo’s room, softening his steps as much as he could in case he was sleeping. He peered around the doorway.

Bilbo was curled up his side, a warm quilt wrapped around his shoulders. Thorin drank in the sight of him, solid and real, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the light fell across his curls and his skin, slowly gaining colour. Something in him relaxed, tension leaving the line of his shoulders and neck. 

A soft mewling sound stopped him in his tracks.

He stared.

There was a ball of black and grey fluff nestled into the circle of Bilbo’s arms. It moved.

“S’ all right,” came Bilbo’s voice. He blinked up at Thorin, smiling sleepily. “It’s only Sasha.”

“A cat?”

“Mmm.” He ran a gentle hand down her back, the cat giving a low _purr_. “She’s been keeping me company.”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He remembered Bilbo nearly falling out the car window trying to pet a cow.

“I see I’ve been replaced,” he said, walking over.

Bilbo huffed, smiling up at him. “Silly. She was taking over while you were out.”

“Hmm. That’s all right then.”

Thorin lent down, cupping Bilbo’s cheeks in his hands and kissing him. It was intoxicating, being able to feel him like this, hear his breath hitch, feel the soft slide of lips against his own, warm and real and _alive_ , so responsive against him. When he finally pulled back Bilbo looked just as dazed as he felt, grinning sloppily up at him. Thorin ran a hand through those messy golden curls just because he could, watching Bilbo lean into the touch. Much like a cat himself.

That was something they had found. 

After going for so long without feeling anything other then the cold dark horrors of the tomb, the rush of thousands of forgotten sensations could be too much for Bilbo to handle. 

Sometimes he simply sat there, gazing in wonder as his hand ran over the blankets, taking in every texture and line. Blankets and pillows he loved, wrapping himself up them, slowly dragging his legs back and forth under the covers, delighting at the feeling of the mattress beneath him and the comforting weight of the soft sheets on top.

He’d let Bilbo run his hands all over his face last night, watching indulgently as he marveled at the scratch of his beard, twirling locks of dark hair around his fingers, all the while Thorin tried to ignore the fierce ache in his chest at how much harm had come to this beautiful amazing man. 

_Mroww_

Breaking apart reluctantly, he looked down. Big yellow eyes looked up at him. Bilbo laughed, nudging his nose against Thorin’s before leaning back.

“She likes you.”

“Does she now?”

Slowly he reached a hand down to the cat, waiting to see if she would let herself be pet. Soft fur met his fingers as she raised her back in an arch, blinking at him. He gave her a scratch, the cat nosing against his wrist, fluffy tail swishing lazily.

“There, see,” said Bilbo, joining in and stroking a hand down her side. He watched Thorin, eyes impossibly soft. “She likes you very much.”

He smiled, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Thorin," said Bilbo suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"There's something I-" he broke off, looking away.

"What?" asked Thorin. He ran a gentle hand through Bilbo's curls.

Bilbo let out a sigh. He relaxed into Thorin's touch, meeting his eyes. "Nothing, just-you do know I love you, don't you?"

Thorin froze, eyes wide.

"Because I do," continued Bilbo, smiling gently. He ran a hand through Thorin's hair, cupping his cheek. "I love you very, very much, Thorin."

The next moment found Bilbo smooshed into Thorin's chest, held close in a desperate hug. He laughed into his sweater. "I love you too," whispered Thorin.

This time, Thorin was the one to start crying.

 

xxx

 

_Thump_

Thorin frowned at the noise, coffee nearly to his lips. 

He’d ducked out to get Bilbo one of the specialty hot cocoa at the café down the street. It turned out Bilbo had a dreadful sweet tooth. One that Thorin was powerless to do anything but indulge him in. 

He remembered all too well how hungrily Bilbo had stared at food, how much it had pained Thorin to know he could eat whatever he liked while Bilbo could only watch. Two-hundred years he had gone without eating. And while he was a ghost and hadn’t starved, Thorin knew it hadn’t stopped him from hungering.

The look of sheer joy and relief on Bilbo’s face when he’d managed to bring a spoonful of watery soup up to his mouth had been heartbreaking. He’d froze, eyes shut, completely overwhelmed by what was in all honesty bland hospital issue vegetable soup. By the time he’d finished the bowl it had gone long cold, Bilbo having to stop and sob tearfully into Thorin’s chest between spoonfuls. He’d still insisted on finishing all of it, sagging exhaustedly into the bed when he was done, emotionally worn out.

It made Thorin want to resurrect that damn wraith just so he could kill it again for taking this from Bilbo.

He would have to settle for sneaking him as many sweets from the café as he could carry. 

Thorin entered the room, looking about for the source of the sound. 

Bilbo was standing by the wall. He stared at it with wide eyes, a hand pressed to his forehead. 

“What happened?” asked Thorin, hastily putting their drinks down and coming over to him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I—yes.” Bilbo gave himself a little shake. He turned to Thorin, eyes darting back to the wall and then back again guiltily. “Ah. Did you get coffee?”

“And hot cocoa. Why is your forehead turning pink?”

“Aha, sorry?” The smaller man turned and busied himself with their drinks, taking his hot cocoa and sitting down on the bed with it. He took a sip, sighing happily at the taste.

Something began to occur to Thorin. “Bilbo?”

“Hmm?”

He sat down on the bed next to Bilbo, wrapping an arm around him. “Did you try to walk through the wall?” he asked.

“…no?” Bilbo tried, eyes fixed on his drink.

Thorin couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t. He doubled over, laughing unattractively even as he tried to muffle it.

“Really,” admonished Bilbo. Thorin kept laughing. “Oh _stop_.” Bilbo flapped a hand at him, his ears a bright red. “I just forgot!”

Righting himself, Thorin gave Bilbo a fond grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

Bilbo grumbled, shifting closer to nuzzle against him. “Well. You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

Xxx

 

Snow had fallen thin and crisp over the hospital grounds by the time Bilbo was able to be up and about for any length of time. 

His arm was tucked firmly into Thorin’s as he led them around the path just outside. It was slow going, but Bilbo could hardly stop beaming up at everything, taking in the trees and the snow, the crisp wind against his cheeks and the satisfying crunch of snow beneath his boots. 

That was to say nothing of the warm arm around his own, Thorin’s hands steady and sure when he needed them.

Thorin would be heading back to the Blue Mountains in just under a month. He would talk to Dain, and officially send in his transfer to work in the Shire. He would be there a few weeks, packing up his flat and sorting through what he wanted to bring with him and what he would throw away.

He wouldn’t be going alone. 

There were so many places Bilbo wanted to see. Thorin was determined they would see them all, Minas Tirith, Rivendell, Dorwinion, even the Greenwood if he so wished. They’d start with the Blue Mountains. Thorin could show Bilbo the city he had spoken of so wistfully, taking him to his favorite restaurants and introducing him to his family. Bilbo couldn’t wait. After being tethered in place for so long, he was finally free to leave the Shire. And Thorin had years of neglected vacation time to make up for before his transfer when through.

They planned to make the most of it.

For now though, Bilbo leaned into Thorin, letting out a sigh as he gladly took his weight. He looked up at the naked trees, felt the world move around him in a way he hadn't felt for two-hundred years.

He shut his eyes, tipping his face to the sun. _Thank you_ , he thought, overwhelmed.

The brush of a beard against the side of his neck had him jumping, a giggle threatening to break out at the ticklish sensation. Warm arms wrapped around his middle, holding him safe and secure. It was more then he had ever dared to hope for, this brave, brilliant man, so patient and kind, protective to a fault. 

Bilbo’s breath puffed out before him, white and mist-like in the frosty air. He watched it disappear, wisping away under the bright winter sun, carried off and away on the breeze rustling through the trees leading away out over the borders of Buckland and into the wild plains beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done! ;~;
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support! Some of you have been sticking with this fic for three years now, and I can't tell you how much that means to me. You're all wonderful people and were a huge part of my motivation to get this story done! <3
> 
> To everyone else who's read and enjoyed- even if you're only just reading the whole thing now-thank YOU for sticking with it to the end! It's long and written over the span of several years. I've still got to give the whole thing a good edit for continuity, so I can only hope it's been a satisfying read.
> 
> Thanks again! <3

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://teaxdragon.tumblr.com/)


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